


Blue Eyes

by impossiblepluto



Category: MacGyver (TV 2016)
Genre: Found Family, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Parental Jack Dalton, Whump, but not gross eye trauma, tw: eye trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-18
Updated: 2019-10-18
Packaged: 2020-12-22 20:28:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 22,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21082616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/impossiblepluto/pseuds/impossiblepluto
Summary: A mission goes wrong leaving Mac vulnerable and an uncertain recovery ahead





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Orianess](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Orianess/gifts).

> Thank you to Orianess who dropped this gem of an idea in my askbox. I can only hope I did it justice and can't wait to read your story!

Mac smiles as soft laughter tinkles around him. He excuses himself from the fawning admirers and breathes a sigh of relief when they reluctantly let him leave the circle, after extracting a promise that he’ll return to them shortly. The attention leaves him feeling like the wealthy new neighbor in a Jane Austen novel. Everyone wants to talk with him. This cover is too good. The techs outdid themselves. He’ll need to talk to Matty because he’s getting too much attention with this one. 

"Hey, ol' Blue Eyes," Jack grouses through the comms. "You want to quit slayin' the ladies and get a move on?"

Mac raises his champagne flute to his lips he answers. "Look, I'd rather just head for the basement too, finish the mission and go home, but my cover is a flirt."

"Sorry to tell you, slick, flirtin' with the ladies, not really your thing. You're plenty cute, and adorably awkward but your suave ladies man needs a little work."

Mac uses one finger to push his glasses higher up on his nose. One lone finger, aimed in Jack’s general direction. 

“I see that, punk.”

"Sometimes cute with a nice smile is all you need, Jack," Riley interrupts the bickering. "Once you get over a certain age you have to work a little harder Especially if you have a cheesy accent."

"Now that's just hurtful,” Jack protests. “What is this? Pick on Jack night?”

“I think I’ve bought myself some time. You guys ready to go?”

“Oh your mark, hoss,” Jack confirms. 

Mac slips between thick tapestries and sounds from the party muffled as he heads down the hallway, following the blueprints he memorized. He stops halfway down the hall, using the blue light of his super spy glasses to find the hidden panel and release the door to the basement. 

It slides open smoothly. Mac removes the glasses and slides them into his pocket as he descends the staircase. 

He finds the utility closet, with access to the ventilation system. 

"Where there's smoke," Mac mumbles, scanning the shelves of household cleaners, even the mansion lairs of criminal organizations need deep cleanings sometimes. He makes his selections, snatching bottles from the shelves. Unscrewing lids he pours the contents into a large mop bucket he snags from under a workbench, combining the chemicals to make a distraction. The contents begin to sizzle.

* * *

Jack smiles, listening as Mac mutters chemical names and reactions. He gets this, almost fondness to his voice, like greeting an old friend. There is comfort there, Jack supposes, stability. Knowledge that this chemical reacts this way. It took some getting used to, the idea that his friend routinely mixes together cleaning supplies to create explosions, smoke, or fumes without hardly needing to think about it. His mind supplying the answers to questions Jack doesn't even know to ask.

He trusts Mac, totally. Completely. His brain has saved their lives more times than Jack can count or even begin to remember.

He can hear splashes through the comms and locks eyes with Riley, knowing their distraction is imminent. Jack subtly rolls his shoulders, loosening up and preparing to move when Mac gives the signal.

Jack jumps about a foot when Mac screams instead. His finger goes to his ear, creating a tighter seal on the comms to drown out the noise of the party surrounding him. His vision tunneling, focusing on Mac's cries of pain, gleaning information of the situation Mac is in.

"Mac? Mac! What's going on," Jack still tries to keep his voice low, not attracting attention but heading in the direction he last saw Mac heading.

"It burns, oh god, it," Mac whimpers. "I've got to get it off, I can't..." Thumps and thuds, rattles and crashes.

There's a loud squelch and the comm goes dead.

"Mac," Jack hisses again, but there's no response. He turns towards Riley. "Get Matty on the line. We're blown. Then get the car. I'm going to find Mac."

He stalks through the hall, the sea of people parting before him. One look at the set of his jaw and not daring to get in his way. Once away from the partygoers he continues trying to raise Mac on the comms. He doesn't call out, not yet, not until he knows what he's walking into, what caused Mac to scream.

He pulls his gun from his concealed shoulder holster, still keeping it hidden from view, and systematically clears the rooms in the basement, when he hears the whimper from the end of the hall. It's a small supply closet. He eases the door open.

Mac is hunched over, his head is in the sink, water running across his face. As soon as the door opens Mac leaps from his position, swinging blindly.

Jack catches his arm easily. "Hey! Hey, it's me, hoss. It's me."

Mac's eyes are closed, squeezed shut, water droplets running down his face. Or those might be tears. The delicate skin around his eyes, and across his right cheek is pink and puckered. He pulls from Jack's grip and stumbles back towards the sink.

"What happened?" Jack turns taking in the scene as Mac plunges his head under the faucet again.

"It shouldn't have reacted like," Mac's voice tight with pain. "I've done this a thousand times. These chemicals shouldn't have..." he breaks off with a cry. "It burns Jack."

Jack's heart drops. "Is it in your eyes?" He can barely make out Mac's miserable nod. "Matty, you getting this?"

"Yes, Jack, I'm briefing medical as we speak. I assume Mac is doing an eyewash?"

"Yeah, sink, running water."

"Do we have any idea what chemicals?"

Jack picks up an upturned bottle. "Mac said what he used shouldn't have reacted like that, so I'm guessing someone did a no-no and put different cleaning supplies in old bottles, or pre-mixed something they shouldn't have."

"Medical says to bring them with so we know what we're dealing with," Matty says. "And a minimum fifteen minute eyewash. Is your current location secure?"

Jack eases the door to the hallway open and peers out. "For now. Not sure if it's fifteen minutes secure. I didn't exactly make a scene when I left the party, but I wasn't sly either."

"You just need water, right?" Riley breaks into the conversation. "Enough to keep pouring over his eyes? These people like their bottled water. I've got an unopened twenty-four pack from their pantry."

"Can you get out of there with it," Jack asks.

Riley snorts. "Are you kidding. In this dress? Someone will probably help me carry it."

"Riley," Matty interrupts. "Get to the car, pull it around. Jack, keep Mac's head in the sink until she's set."

"Got it." Jack looks each direction down the hallway again, then gathers the bottles of chemicals before walking up behind Mac. "Hey, bud, we're gonna need to be ready to go in a minute. We got some water in the car so we can keep flushing your eyes and face."

"Yeah, okay," Mac starts to pull his head from the flow of water.

Jack presses his hand against Mac's back. "Nah, I'll give you the signal when we gotta move. For now, you just keep up with this Chinese water torture. You hurting anywhere else?"

"I can't even think about anything except my eyes," Mac confesses. "It burns Jack. Still."

Jack rubs the back of Mac's neck, his fingers sliding around to reach Mac's pulse. His heart rate jackrabbiting.

"You gonna be able to walk out of here?"

Mac hesitates. "Um, not sure how well I'm going to be able to see."

"That's alright. Trust exercise. You just let ol' Jack lead you around."

"You're not going to walk me into the pool or anything right?" Mac tries to fall back onto their staple banter, to ease the tension, distract him from pain, and even more important, act like everything is normal.

In a way it is. Missions go sideways. They have to trust each other. Improvise. They've done it a thousand times before.

Except that this time, Mac can't see.

When Riley gives the signal, Jack taps Mac's shoulder, alerting him that it's time to move. He pulls his head from the stream of water and gives a quick shake of his hair. His eyes tightly clenched, as if it's too much effort to open then, the skin around them reddened and abraded.

Jack leads Mac from the room, Mac's hand on his elbow. Jack guides him, physically and verbally, up the stairs, counting them aloud, and through the partygoers, deftly maneuvering them through inebriated, handsy couples and swift moving waiters. He can feel Mac's hand shaking on his arm. His steps tentative.

"Almost there, bud. You're doin' great," Jack encourages.

Mac doesn't respond, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other, on not landing on his face, on not letting the tears escape his eyes. He's only successful in two out of the three.

They step into the cool night air, and down the marble steps. Mac's steps slow further and his grip on Jack's arm tightens. His dress shoes click and slip against the smooth marble.

"Last step," Jack says as the familiar purr of an engine rolls up.

"Just ahead, hoss. Backseat's all yours." 

Jack herds Mac into the backseat of the GTO, encouraging him to stretch out across the seat, while Jack slides in after him and wedges himself on the floorboards between the seats. As soon as the doors close, Riley peels down the driveway.

Tears leak from Mac's eyes, reddened and swollen and he has trouble opening them against the burning pain.

Jack cracks open the first bottle. He places his hand against Mac's forehead, for comfort and treatment, gently helping Mac pry open his eyes. He pours a steady stream of water over blue eyes, rinsing and repeating the action.

Mac's hand reaches up, grasping onto the wrist of Jack's hand that rests on his forehead. Jack worries for a moment that Mac is going trying to stop him, but recognizes that he's using Jack's presence to steady himself against the pain.

Jack squints down in the darkness. "Mac, your hand is burned too."

Mac grunts. "Yeah, I know. Rinsed it as well as I could. Don't want to waste the water now. If I had some milk, I could soak it, the calcium might stop the burning but..."

"Calcium? Riley, check the glove box, I got some TUMs. Would that work?"

"You could-- if you can crush them? Make them into a paste that-- that should help," Mac stumbles over his words, pain keeping him from thinking clearly.

The car jostles lightly as Riley stretches her small frame across the front seat and rummages in the glove compartment. "Got it," she tosses the bottle back to Jack.

Jack takes Mac's uninjured hand and wraps it around the bottle of water. "Keep pouring," he instructs.

Jack uncaps the bottle and shakes some tablets into his hand, staring at them for a minute before popping them in his mouth and chewing, trying not to let too much saliva touch them and completely disintegrate them. He spits them back into his hand. He grasps Mac's burned hand and coats the powdery paste on the burns. Mac hisses despite Jack's attempts to be gentle.

Jack covers each finger, staring at Mac's hand in the dark. Small blisters pepper the skin, but they aren't the worst burns Jack's seen on Mac's hands. An explosion gone wrong in the Sandbox, a crematorium in New Orleans, a bonfire in Washington. Jack is getting too comfortable with dressing changes and ointments. He can only hope they're as lucky this time as they have been every other.

He cracks the seal on another bottle of water, fingers pulling Mac's eyelids pack again blue irises stark against red. Another bottle emptied, tossed aside. New bottle in his hand before he can think. Twist the lid with a snap. Water flows. Again. Repeat.

Until they're out of water.

"How much longer, Ri?" Jack asks and he watches the last of the water flow against Mac's face.

"Ten minutes."

"Just relax now, hoss," Jack cards his fingers through Mac's wet hair. "You get a little reprieve for now."

Mac grunts, eyes closed. Twin tracks of tears run along Mac's temples, drip into his hair. Jack catches one with his thumb. He feels similar tracks on his cheeks but he lets them be.

Jack refrains from asking Riley against how much longer. Knows the answer will be frustrating for everyone involved. And he can tell by the rapid decelerations, followed by fast lane changes and accelerating that traffic is picking up, despite the late hour.

Riley lays on the horn, and Mac jumps. Jack continues running his hand through Mac's damp hair.

"Move it!" Riley yells, swerving quickly.

Jack can't help the small smile that plays on his lips. She may have learned her road rage from him. Certainly, her driving skills, because Jack's pretty sure she takes the last turn into the Phoenix Emergency bay on two wheels, screeching to a halt with the scent of burning rubber. His girl is good.

Jack scrambles out of the back, stumbling on legs cramped from his awkward position on the floor. He reaches back into the car, steadying Mac as he scoots across the seat, engulfing the younger man in his arms.

"I can walk," Mac protests. "Just help me. Are we at the back?" Mac recognizes the echo from the large concrete room, and the slight smell of gasoline from the emergency bay, trying to get his bearings , create a mental picture of the familiar route through the building.

Jack confirms their location, taking Mac's elbow, guiding him around the Phoenix ambulances and into the building, dress shoes crack on the corridors. The hiss of automatic doors and the sharp scent of medical grade cleaners and sickly smell of antibiotics alerts Mac that they've entered medical.

Jack hands off the chemical bottles to the first tech he sees with instructions that they are the number one priority of the lab tonight. Following Reese, he guides Mac back to an exam room, relieved that she's on duty, and thankful that he caught of glimpse of Dr. McClain as they headed back. He and Mac need someone they can trust, especially tonight.

"Did the eyewash for about thirty minutes total," Jack says, as he helps settle Mac into a semi-reclined position on the padded examination table. "The last twenty were with water bottles. Flow wasn't as fast, and a little more inconsistent," Jack rubs the back of his neck as he gives a quick report. "Ran out of water ten minutes before we got here." He starts to take a step back, stay out of the way so Mac can be examined, when Mac's good hand scoots across the table, looking for Jack.

Jack immediately moves closer. He resists the urge to scoop up Mac's hand and startle him, instead he lets Mac's fingers find his before he wraps his hand around Mac's.

"Jack, hook him up to the monitor, get some vital signs," Reese instructs. "Mac, I'm going to test the pH level of your eyes." She explains, pulling swollen lids back and using a type of litmus paper to run her test.

The tearing sound of velcro next to his ear, and Jack is wrapping the cuff around his arm, a moment later he hears the cycle begin and the cuff squeezes his bicep. Jack's hand stays on his shoulder.

Reese places a towel behind his head and another across his chest to catch fluid and begins another round of flushing his eyes. He doesn't know why she bothers, his hair and clothes are soaked. 

"How is your pain, Mac?"

"It stings a little."

"Or a lot," Jack mutters under his breath.

"It's better than it was." Mac is surprised to note.

After several minutes, Reese retests the pH level of Mac's eyes and he is finally granted a reprieve from the continuous flow of water in his eyes and across his face.

"Keep your eyes closed for now. I'm going to wrap them until the ophthalmologist gets here," Reese says, placing soaked gauze pads against his eyelids and wrapping kerlix around his head to secure the dressing.

"I've got a pair of scrubs for you to put on," Reese says. "Jack, if you give him a hand, I'll go see about some pain meds."

Reese's danskos squeak as she crosses the room, a rustle from the privacy curtain as she pulls it closed, and the door clicks shut.

Mac sits up and shrugs out of the suit coat, hissing as the material brushes the burns. His hands shake. Jack eases them away and focuses on the buttons of Mac's dressing shirt, then peels the sodden material from his shoulders.

Mac shivers, cold or shock, maybe pain. Jack grabs one of the towels and dries the damp skin of Mac's neck and back.

"Arms up," Jack instructs as he threads Mac's limbs through the scrub top. Then throws the towel over Mac's wet hair. Mac jumps, and it makes Jack's heart clench.

"Sorry, hoss," Jack apologizes with a small wince. He quickly ruffles the towel through Mac's hair. Then warning Mac what he's doing next helps him shuck his suit pants and into the slightly more comfortable scrubs.

Mac is settling back against the table again when there's a rap on the door.

"Hey Mac, it's McClain," the doctor announces himself as he steps into the room. "Bottles were sent to the lab for analysis, but I did a quick litmus test before sending them off. Luckily, the contents of both were acidic."

"Lucky?" Jack interrupts looking between Mac and the doc. "It's acid. In his eyes. That's lucky?"

"In this case, Jack, yes. Alkali burns are more dangerous. They penetrate the eye, the damage is irreversible. If the chemicals are acidic they tend to be more superficial. Obviously, neither one is great to get in your eye."

Mac nods digesting the information. "What are you thinking?"

"I'm going to defer to Dr. Sun, she's the ophthalmologist, on that," McClain answers, stepping closer to the exam table. "We'll get you some pain meds while we wait for her. In the meantime, I want to look you over, make sure in our panic over your eyes we aren't missing something else."

"He's got some burns," Jack offers the information, his voice tense. He hadn't even thought to worry about Mac inhaling the unidentified chemicals.

"Reese mentioned those," McClain says, lifting Mac's hand, squinting and frowning at the appendage and the dusty paste covering it.

"Tums," Mac offers the answer to the unasked question.

"Smart," McClain tips Mac's head slightly. "Couple of burns on the side of your neck here."

Mac's fingers reach for them. "I didn't notice. They don't hurt," but he has to resist the urge to hiss when skin touches skin.

"Other priorities at the time. They're superficial. Probably just need some salve for a few days. The pain meds will cover that too if they do start to bother you now that you know they're there." McClain tilts Mac's head back, examining his nasal passages for any signs of burns or chemical irritation.

"Open your mouth for me," McClain instructs, inspecting Mac's mouth with a penlight and tongue depressor. "Any soreness or tightness in your throat, do you think you inhaled any of the chemicals?" McClain's hands gently palpate Mac's neck.

Mac's brow furrows. "I don't think so," he swallows tentatively, paying attention for discomfort. "It doesn't feel like it."

"I'm going to take a listen to your chest, Mac," the doctor says as he presses his stethoscope to Mac's chest, moving it across and down with each inhale, then assisting Mac to sit forward while he repeats the action listening to Mac's back. Mac denies any complaints of chest tightness or shortness of breath. McClain declares his lung fields clear and the whole room breathes a collective sigh of relief. They need one thing to go in their favor tonight.

Reese returns with pain medication and Riley as the doctor finishes his exam.

It's telling to Jack, to everyone, that Mac accepts the pills without complaint. No protests or denials as he swallows them down. He leans heavily back against the reclined table.

"Hey Mac," Riley says, coming to stand next to Jack. She reaches out to touch his shoulder, and bites her lip when he flinches in surprise.

"Sorry," they both apologize at the same time.

Riley slides her hand across Mac's shoulder to the back of his head, pulling him forward slightly as she brushes a kiss against his forehead.

"I'm okay, Riles," Mac says, his face flushed from being the center of their attention. "Nice driving," he compliments. He doesn't remember much of the drive, only being in the backseat with Jack.

"She learned from the best," Jack brags like the proud parent he is.

"That's nice of you to say, but I don't think I'm the best," Mac says, his tone sincere but his mouth twitching.

"Me! I'm talkin' about me!"

"And now," Riley says. "The student has succeeded the master."

"You're both little punks," Jack grouses, and it feels good to forget for a moment that they're in medical waiting to hear the extent of Mac's injuries.

The moment ends as Reese begins cleaning the improvised calcium slurry from Mac's hand with mild soap and water, before patting it dry.

"I went back and got certified in burn care after your last few incidents," Reese says, gently applying ointment to his blisters. "Thought I could cause some sort of reversed Murphy's law."

"Yhprum's law," Jack murmurs, leaning in to look at the blisters on Mac's hands. "What?" He asks when he notices Riley, Reese, and Mac would be if his eyes weren't covered, turn to look at him.

"What?" Riley asks.

"Opposite of Murphy's law. Yhprum's law."

"Did you just make that up?" Riley asks, raising an eyebrow.

"No!" Jack exclaims, sounding offended. "We were having a run of bad luck, as usual, and I was doing some research."

Mac snorts. "Meet the superstitious member of our partnership."

"I suppose you both think you're the only ones capable of doing research or using google."

"Murphy's law isn't really a thing, it's a statistical inevitability. Things go wrong."

"Oh don't tell me that you don't feel like they go more wrong for us than anybody else."

"Because we're doing things that nobody else does."

"There are other teams doing what we do."

"I mean, our success rate rivals the other top Phoenix teams combined," Mac states matter-of-factly. "None of the five eyes even come close to any of our top teams. So nobody else is really doing what we do."

Reese is finishing wrapping Mac's hands, offering reminders and instructions to the three present members of team improvise on proper care of burns when Dr. Sun arrives.

The room is dark, just the blue glow from Dr. Jin Sun's portable slit lamp. Mac rubs his fingers nervously against his scrub pants.

She directs Mac, moving his eyes through each visual field, up and down, left and right, as she examines the structures of his eye, and performs an eyelid eversion to peer under each lid for inflammation, or residual chemicals.

Mac can hear shuffling off to his side, softly murmured "ohs" when it's determined that his visual acuity is so poor he can't identify a single letter on an eye chart across the room. He wants to shoo everyone from the room, warmth creeping up his neck at being the center of attention, but he doesn't want to explain everything the doctor said multiple times. It's easier to let everyone stay.

He's acutely aware he's the center of attention of some of the most observant, detail-oriented people in the world. All completely focused on him, watching his every movement, each facial expression, and he can't see them.

Maybe it's for the best. He doesn't have to try to ignore the concern that they can't quite hide in their expressions. Can't see the shock when they realize he doesn't even see the eye chart.

Dr. Sun rinses his eyes one more time before wrapping them.

"I'm going to prescribe four different eye drops for you," Dr. Sun explains. "An antibiotic, a steroid to bring down the inflammation, a beta blocker to keep your eye pressure steady, and a lubricating drop. You'll need to administer these four times a day, about five minutes between each drop."

Mac nods, committing the instructions to memory and he hears scratching of a pencil on paper, and Riley's fingernails clacking on her phone.

"We'll give you a copy of the instructions," Dr. Sun says. "You need to keep your eyes wrapped, only take the dressings off for administering the drops. I'm also going to put you on an oral antibiotic and high doses of vitamin C. I want to see you again in two days. At that point, we'll have a better idea about our next steps."

Mac nods again, taking in the information. "What's my prognosis?"

"It's too early to tell anything for certain at this point. There are significant abrasions to both of your corneas, but it doesn't look like it's full thickness. There are any number of ways this could go."

"Worst case scenario."

"Significant vision loss," Dr. Sun answers honestly.

"He'd be blind?" Jack asks, shoulders tensing as if bracing for a physical blow.

"You asked me worst case scenarios. Blindness, macular degeneration, glaucoma, corneal ulceration, cataracts, any of those are possibilities, or the drops might do their jobs beautifully and you wear the bandages for a few weeks and go back to your normal life."

Jack's hand comes to rest on Mac's shoulder. He knows Mac is already preparing for the worst, can see the hamster in Mac's brain spinning in his wheel so fast he's getting dizzy.

"Hey," Jack murmurs. "Whatever happens, we got your back."

* * *

The drive back to Mac's house is subdued. Mac, Jack, and Riley each caught up in their own thoughts and fears.

Mac hears Riley's phone continuously buzzing in the backseat. He knows that she's flipping between updating Bozer and starting her own research on chemical burns affecting the structures of the eye.

"It was a full moon tonight," Mac says, resting his head on the seat, turning toward the window.

"Huh," Jack replies, rustling in the driver's seat. "Yeah, it is."

The rustling from Jack continues, Mac knows that his partner is looking him over, then hears him turns to look back at Riley. They're at a loss for how to proceed. The first time Jack's never instinctively known exactly how to handle him.

"It's going to be directly over Griffith Observatory soon," Riley offers "It seems really big, really close tonight."

"Yeah, really big. 'That's no moon' big," Jack pulls out his poor Obi-Wan Kenobi impression.

Mac forces a smile, that doesn't feel the least bit genuine, and doesn't bat at the low hanging fruit Jack or Riley hold out to him, a chance to ramble about Star Wars or space. Wishes he could, because it might ease the tension in the car and the worry he can feel radiating from his friends.

Mac sighs. Focusing on the motion of the car. He's made the drive thousands of times, winding up through the hills. It's different now, trying to predict their location on the route. He must have missed a turn somewhere because Jack is turning off the engine sooner than Mac expected. He hops out of the car and freezes.

There's a sinking feeling in his chest, as he stands there in utter darkness, unable to make his way from the safety of the car to the security of his home.

"Mac," Jack announces his presence before taking Mac's elbow.

What was comforting a few hours ago, relying on Jack, trusting him absolutely to get him safely to his destination, now causes a tightness in Mac's chest. A shiver runs through him that has nothing to do with the rapidly cooling night air.

Despite years of working with a team, of working with Jack, Mac has trouble giving up control. He has trouble trusting, depending on someone else. It's one thing in the field, somehow easier to rely on someone in life and death situations, a mutual trust, and reciprocating relationship. It's something entirely different here at home, when he has nothing to offer.

Jack leads him up the front walk, letting him know to step up when they approach the porch.

"You want to eat something," Jack asks as they step inside the warm house.

Mac shakes his head, fatigue creeping into his slouched posture. "I just want to go to bed." He can feel Jack waving off Bozer and Riley, and he listens intently, maybe Leanna? He thought he heard another set of footsteps approaching, then stalling a few feet away from them. Leanna is probably the only member of his well-meaning team that will give him space if he asks for it.

"Alright bud," Jack guides him down the hallway.

Mac lets him. Too tired to fight it. He's made his way through the house in the dark, but right now everything feels so off. He feels lost, and he lets Jack lead him into his room, push him into the bathroom to brush his teeth and take care of business. He listens as Jack rustles through his dresser drawers, pulling out a pair of sweats and a soft henley for him to sleep in.

There's a noise at his bedroom door, and he hears soft murmured voices.

Mac makes his way from the bathroom and the voices stop. The scent of buttery toast fills his nose.

"Bozer?" Mac asks.

"Hey, Mac," his roommate says, he has a couple of false starts before he continues. "Thought you probably shouldn't take your meds on an empty stomach. I brought you some toast and juice if you want it."

The hovering over helpless Mac has begun, he thinks bitterly. Out loud he thanks Bozer and takes a few bites to appease his friends, and recognizing the wisdom in having something in his stomach before swallowing down his pills. Grimacing at the taste of orange juice on freshly brushed teeth.

He slides between the sheets and has a passing thought that he doesn't even know if his bedroom lights are on or off.

"You need anything, Mac?" Jack asks.

Mac shakes his head. "Close the door when you go," he says. He hears Jack hesitate. Knows Jack probably planned to camp out in here with him. He just wants to be alone, needs some space, some time. Needs to sleep without being watched. He turns over, away from the door, making it clear the conversation is over.

"Call if you need anything," hesitation still colors Jack's voice. Reluctance to leave Mac alone.

Mac grunts in acknowledgement.

"Alright, good night, Mac." There's a click of a light switch, and the door is pulled snugly closed.

Mac lies in the dark. He can just make out the hushed voices of his team outside his door, listens to their footsteps move further down the hall.

He wonders if he has to change the dressings over his eyes if they're wet from tears.

* * *

A muffled thump wakes Jack from a restless sleep.

He's out of bed before he's even awake, drawing his gun and heading for the door when the thump turns into a clatter that sounds more like someone rummaging through a kitchen in the dark than an intruder.

Bozer must be sleepwalking with all the noise he's making getting a jump start on a breakfast feast to try to tempt Mac's appetite, Jack thinks as he secures his weapon and makes his way down the hall. He's surprised when he finds Mac in the kitchen, feeling his way down the counter to fill the coffee pot. He doesn't want to startle the younger man, contemplates how to announce his presence.

Mac freezes mid-step, cocking his head, listening. "Jack?"

"Yeah," Jack says, stepping further into the kitchen. "Thought I heard someone out here. You okay?"

If bandages weren't covering Mac's eyes, Jack is pretty sure he'd be getting an eye roll right now.

Mac ignores the question, turning back to his task.

"Can I..." Jack comes up behind him.

"I've got it," Mac shrugs away. He fills the reservoir with water, and scoops fresh coffee grounds. Each action a two handed task that he fumbles through, to complete with his non-dominant hand, the bandages on his right hand obstructing his dexterity, an added layer of difficulty as he's forced into checking and double checking his position as he goes. His mouth a tense line. Jack can see the lines of pain when his bandaged hand connected too firmly with the countertop or coffee pot. 

Jack has never seen Mac more uncertain while completing a task. Even disarming bombs, he's steady, hands sure, confident in his actions. It breaks Jack's heart. He wants nothing more to swoop in, to help and be useful. He knows that's the worst thing he can do right now, but he's so used to acting before Mac can even ask for help. While Mac learns how to navigate his home and life again over the next few weeks, Jack is going to need to relearn and re-map his role as well.

His mind returns to the conversation he had with the rest of his team after Mac dismissed him last night.

_ "Riley, go ahead and take the guest room," Jack said as she protested. "I'm not planning on sleeping tonight." _

_ "We can take turns sitting up," Bozer continued to argue when they rejoined the rest of the team. Mutually deciding that was not an argument to have outside of Mac's bedroom door. _

_ "We can work out some sort of rotation going forward, but I got the watch tonight," Jack said in his Delta Dalton, 'I'm in charge' voice, planning for that to be the end of any argument. "You can put some blankets on the couch in case he gets suspicious but I'll hang out in the hall." _

_ "Wait, he clearly wanted some privacy if he kicked both of you out," Leanna said. _

_ "I'll be in the hall. Not going to sneak into his room and sleep on the floor or anything like that. Not unless it sounds like he needs me." _

_ "No, you're going to skulk around outside his bedroom door listening." _

_ Jack glared at her. _

_ "He might need us," Bozer replied.  
_

_ "He can call you if he needs help," Leanna said and Jack furrowed his brows. _

_ "You know Mac," Riley interjected, trying to defuse the rapidly increasing tensions. "He won't want to wake anybody and try to do it himself." _

_ "Do what himself, exactly?" _

_ "With Mac, who knows?" Bozer says. "Sometimes he gets up and wanders around when he can't sleep. He might get hurt wandering around." _

_ "It's his house," Leanna argues. _

_ "He can't see," Jack throws up his hands _

_ "And you've never stumbled through your house in the dark, half-asleep?" Leanna asked with a pointed look at each of them. _

_ "It's never completely pitch black," Riley said, but she's starting to cave to Leanna's wisdom. _

_ "Jack, I'm not trying to convince you not to stay, but maybe give him a little space. I'm pretty sure you're like a mother with a newborn where Mac is concerned, he can't cough in his sleep without you waking up," Leanna said. _

_ Jack didn't even try to protest that assessment. Even sleeping a room over he knows when Mac's having a restless night. _

_ "You'll probably be awake before he is if he needs you," Bozer agreed. _

_ "He's going to hate all the hovering," Riley said, biting her lip. _

_ "And we're going to be doing a lot of necessary hovering and assisting," Bozer said. _

_ "Maybe," Riley said slowly. "maybe give him space when we can." _

_ Jack looked back down the hallway. "Yeah, alright. We'll try not to smother him, but I ain't leaving. Riley, go ahead and go home for a while. I am taking over that guest room for the duration." _

"Jack?"

Mac's voice breaks him from his reverie. "You okay? Kind of quiet over there."

Jack snorts. "First time in my life someone's complained about me being quiet."

"Makes me nervous when I can't hear every thought that goes through your head. Like you're over there plotting something," Mac teases. "Is it too early for coffee?"

"It's just before oh-six-hundred," Jack answers looking at his watch. Sunlight beginning to stream through the windows. "But since you only went to bed about four hours ago, I thought you might sleep a little longer."

"Felt restless. Couldn't see a clock," Mac answers, inhaling deeply the scent of brewing coffee. He pulls open a cupboard, reaching in slowly, his left hand patting against the shelf, searching for a mug. His right cradled to his chest. 

"You in pain?" Jack asks, rattling the pill bottles sitting on the counter as he read the labels. "It's been a while since you had something."

"I don't really want any," Mac says. He carefully pours a cup of coffee.

"Watch it there, bud, you're about to overflow," Jack says, catching Mac's arm and pulling the coffeepot away.

"I've got it, Jack," Mac protests, but is ignored.

"Don't need you burning yourself again, or getting those bandages on your hand wet."

"I know, but I had it. I had my finger inside the cup so I could feel how full it was getting.” 

"Looked pretty close to me. I didn't ask you if you wanted pain meds. I asked if you were in pain," the pointed look he aims in Mac's direction is lost on him.

Mac takes a sip from his steaming mug before answering. "There's some mild discomfort."

"So you're in agony."

"It's tolerable."

"It doesn't have to just be tolerable, Mac. You need to rest. You aren't going to do that if you're in pain."

"They make me foggy."

"You got a lot of thinking and plotting you need to do today?"

Mac purses his lips. "I think the eye drops will be more soothing than the pain meds."

"Yeah, okay," Jack agrees with Mac's assessment. If he pushes too hard Mac will get stubborn. It’s too early in the morning and too soon for a battle of the wills. "It's gonna take us like twenty minutes to do them. And we gotta do it four times today, so might as well get a jump on it."

Mac picks his way through the living room, bumping his shins on the chair and the coffee table, swallowing a sigh of frustration. Knowing that Jack will hear it and start up Twenty Questions again, about how he's feeling, his pain, and what he needs. Mac doesn't have it in him to go through the whole scene again. Doesn't want to explain that there's a constant burning in his eyes that he can mostly ignore, that it's become a background sensation, skirting around the edges of his conscious thoughts. That his hand only aches when he moves it, or bumps it. No, he doesn't want pain meds. No, he doesn't want something to eat. No, he doesn't want to lay down for a nap.

The curtains rustle as Jack pulls them tightly closed, darkening the room before removing the bandages, hoping to minimize the strain on Mac's eyes.

Mac settles on the couch, picking at the tape holding the bandages in place, unwinding the gauze wrapped around his head, covering his eyes.

Jack brushes past him, sitting on the coffee table. His calloused fingers removed the gauze pads from Mac's eyes.

Mac slowly opens his eyes, even the darkened room feels like an assault on his eyes. They snap shut again.

"Keep 'em closed for a minute," Jack instructs. "Let 'em adjust. We got time."

"Is it really that bright?" Mac's brow furrows.

"Early morning sun. It's not just bright, it's the angles it's coming in," Jack assures.

"Are you just telling me that so I don't worry?"

"Now that sounds more like something you'd do to me, not the other way around," Jack teases.

"And now, you're trying to distract me."

Jack hums. "No, I'm trying to save myself an early morning science lecture on light particles and prisms that always happens when I say a common colloquial that doesn't quite match up with someone's scientific theory. Now, you want to try this again?"

Mac eases his eyes open again. Despite feeling like spotlights are in his face, room looks dark, full of shadows and haze. Dusty and dim.

"Stop that," a fuzzy shadow that Mac is pretty sure it's Jack's hand, flaps in front of his face

"Stop what?"

"Now I understand why Dr. Sun decided on the more inconvenient gauze instead of eye patches, so you can't just flip them up and check your vision whenever you like. You're supposed to be resting your eyes. Stop looking around."

"I can't just stop seeing," Mac argues, catching Jack's hand and pulling it away.

"But you can stop trying so hard. I mean it, Mac. Stop straining. Head back," Jack's hand rests on his forehead, tilting his head back against the pillows. "First drop," he says pulling back on Mac's eyelids and administering the drop.

It's cool, refreshing against his eyes, eases the sensation of burning.

"Now close 'em until the next one."

Mac shakes his head gently, but follows Jack's instruction.

"What- uh- what did you see?" Jack asks. Mac's admittance that he couldn't see last night shook him.

Mac can hear that he's trying to sound nonchalant, like he's not worried about the answer. He shrugs.

"Someone doesn't want me trying to see," he teases, then continues. "Shadows mostly. Couldn't make out much of anything."

"That's okay," Jack pats Mac's shoulder. "It's only day one. Not even day one, like the first eight hours. Alright, ready for drop number two." Jack repeats his actions, hand against Mac's forehead, to administer the drop. The touch is more comforting than either would admit out loud.

Jack leaves his hand resting there, thumb stroking Mac's temple in a rhythmic motion, soothing the lines of tension from Mac's forehead.

Mac sighs, eyes closed and breathing deepening.

* * *

Riley debates knocking. In all the years they've been friends she's never knocked. She followed Jack through the front door after her first mission and never looked back. He, Bozer and Mac all reassured her that knocking wasn't necessary. They were a team. She is family.

Unless there's an emergency or a mission or a pre-arranged arrival time she's always careful not to arrive before nine. Mac's insomnia means that he's long awake by that time, and Bozer is an early riser. She's never asked but she wonders if that stems from the number of explosions that have woken him up when Mac's insomnia is at it's worst. Usually by the time she's arrived Mac is elbows deep in a project, and Bozer has leftovers from a scrumptious breakfast ready and waiting for whoever walks through the door.

While she's usually expected, and enters the house slowly, just in case. It is a house full of men, and there have been plenty of moments that she regretted not knocking. Walking in on whatever it was Mac and Bozer were doing, wrestling around on the floor the first week after she met them. Sparring Bozer claimed. Working out a scene from Bozer's latest script, Mac said. She entered slightly more cautiously after that.

Or then time she walked in while Bozer was singing every harmony of Bohemian Rhapsody as he fried homemade donuts. That regret was more that she didn't have her camera at the ready to capture the moment.

Or the time Mac was half-asleep against Jack's shoulder. Tear stains on his face. Bloody gauze on the table and a fresh row of stitches across his chest. Jack murmuring soft comforting words, his hand running through Mac's hair, rubbing his back. That regret was intruding in a private moment. She knew Jack could calm Mac's racing thoughts and heart like no one else. Mac had startled awake and pulled away from Jack with a pained gasp and she felt guilty about stealing the few minutes of peace he'd found.

This time, is like that last time. Riley wishes she hadn't left her house so early. Or stopped for coffee, or had hit one more red light on her drive over. Wishes that they had a few more minutes of comfort, a reprieve from the rest of the world before it intruded on them.

Mac is sleeping on the couch. Eyes tightly bandaged again. His hand on Jack's shoulder as the older man sits on the floor next to him, rubbing the knuckles of that unbandaged hand.

_"He's got eyes of the bluest skies_   
_ As if they thought of rain,_   
_ I hate to look into those eyes_   
_ And see an ounce of pain"_

Riley freezes, just out of sight from the occupants of the living room, listening to Jack tenderly sing a stripped down ballad. His voice soft, raspy and comforting. It sounds like home and love.

_ "Oh, oh, oh, sweet child o' mine." _

Her heart clenches, she's transported back to being twelve years old, and Jack's rock 'n roll lullabies, that she rolled her eyes and declared herself much too old and mature for. It didn't stop him. At the time, it was the only way Jack Dalton could express to Riley that he cared about her like a daughter. Younger then. The words more difficult. Harder for him to be vulnerable.

For such a tough guy, Jack now wears his heart visible on his sleeve to anyone who knows him. Not afraid to say the words that his kids need to hear, because of his perceived mistakes when Riley was growing up. The words his kids have trouble accepting, and an even harder time of saying themselves. Maybe that's why Jack says them. Loudly. Often. Reminding the two abandoned broken kids how much he loves them.

Her eyes are surprisingly moist. She knows it's not always easy for Jack to say the words either. Easier now, maybe, after years of practice. Despite his loud proclamations, he doesn't feel like he deserves happiness, or a family, not with the years of destruction and death left in his wake. But he pushes that aside, for them.

She thinks she should turn around and head back out the door, not interrupt this private moment.

"Oh, oh, oh, you can come in Riley..." Jack sings his own version of the chorus to let her know he's aware that she entered the house, and is hesitating in the hallway, and that he doesn't see her presence as an intrusion.

Riley flushes, slowly stepping further into the house. She should have known Jack would already be aware of her presence. Especially since he's standing guard over a sleeping Mac.

She waves when she reaches the threshold of the living room.

Jack continues singing softly, returning the wave. Turning his head to check on Mac before he ends the song.

"I didn't mean to interrupt..."

Jack waves her off. "It's fine. Finally convinced him to take some more pain meds this morning so hopefully he'll be out for a while."

"How did last night go?" Riley asks, she turns back toward the kitchen, following the scent of coffee. She'd been up several times throughout the night, restless and worrying. Wondering if there was anything they could have done differently, and if her life, their lives were in for a dramatic and permanent change.

"He slept. Mostly. Up early. Bozer got him to eat a little somethin'."

Riley returns to the living room holding two mugs, passing the second off to Jack. His hands wrap around the warm mug, and he inhales the comforting scent gratefully. She looks around the house.

"Where is Bozer?"

"Grocery run," Jack says after swallowing. He studies her face. "You doin' alright?"

Riley shrugs, looking up towards the corner of the room, trying to ignore the scene in front of her and the prickling behind her eyelids. She takes a sip from her mug. "Of course."

“He’s going to be fine.”

“I know,” her voice cracks. 

“A few uncomfortable weeks maybe, but he’ll get through it.”

Her smile is wet. She wants to believe him. Jack has faith in his boy, but she was up all night, falling down the rabbit hole of medical journals she only half understood. She’s primed for worst case scenarios where Mac loses his sight, completely forever. 

He’s resourceful, but she’s not sure how he would deal with that blow. She’s not sure how she’ll deal with it. 

"Mac made that coffee," Jack says.

"Really?" Riley asks, her voice still tearful but sounding more steady and hopeful than a moment before.

"C'mere," Jack beckons, then seeing her hesitate repeats. "Come on, Riles."

She steps carefully around the coffee table that Jack had kicked out of the way earlier when he slid down to sit next to the couch.

Jack takes her hand and pulls her down to sit next to him, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. He brushes a kiss against her temple, before she rests her head on his unoccupied shoulder. She closes her eyes, breathing in gunpowder and leather and the cologne Jack's been wearing since she was a child. It smells like home.

They sit in companionable silence, until Jack quietly begins singing again, running a hand through her thick waves.

_"Her hair reminds me of a warm safe place_   
_ Where as a child I'd hide,_   
_ and pray for the thunder_   
_ and the rain_   
_ to quietly pass me by._   
_ Oh, oh, oh, sweet child o' mine."_


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brief mention is made of an old friend of Jack's, Eliot Spencer from Leverage.  
Also references to another story of mine "Family + Corvette"

Jack peels back the gauze wrapping Mac’s hand. Cradling the injured appendage gently as he snips through the tape and unwinds the dressing. He licks his lips, focusing, giving a tentative tug when the gauze sticks. 

Mac tries to abort a flinch at the stinging sensation, pulling his hand from Jack’s grasp.

They both murmur apologies. 

“You’re jumpier than Brego when he cut up his leg last spring,” Jack says as Mac extends his hand back toward Jack. He grasps it firmly, stroking his thumb against the back of Mac’s hand for a minute before continuing to ease the wrapping away. 

“I think you were gentler with Brego,” Mac mutters. 

“He’s a horse, he doesn’t know what’s going on. But if you want I’ll breathe in your nostrils, pat your shoulder and tell you ‘easy boy, easy.’”

“Cause that’s so different than how you normally treat me.”

“You’re makin’ our relationship sound real weird, dude.”

Mac snickers. 

Riley watches the scene unfold from the kitchen. Teasing and snarking, their modus operandi. 

And Jack can freely turn worried brown eyes on Mac, no chance that his sympathy will be caught by his younger partner. 

“Stop looking like that.”

“Like what?” Jack protests.

“Like you personally stuck my hand in acid.”

So much for not getting caught, Riley smirks. After so many years, of course, Mac would know Jack is staring at him with eyes full of pain, trying to take on the physical hurt Mac is feeling. 

"I’m not.” Jack protests.

“I can feel you.”

“Whatever, dude.”

After bathing Mac’s hand with mild soap, Jack pats the skin dry, reaching for a jar of medicated ointment. He slathers the prescribed salve across blistered skin, fingers gentle, caressing. Whether it’s the soothing ointment or Jack’s touch, Mac’s shoulders relax. He settles back against the couch while Jack winds the gauze into a protective glove over Mac’s hand. 

Jack pats Mac’s knee. “Finished.”

Mac’s left hand covers his right, playing with the fraying edges of the gauze, picking at the tape holding the dressing in place.

“Stop that,” Jack scolds, covering both of Mac’s hands with his.

“Just checking out your handiwork.”

“Look, I’ll concede that you’ve got me beat in the smarts department, and there’s almost nothing I can do that I can’t trust you to do better, but I got more experience wrapping burned hands than you.”

Mac lays his hand in his lap, fingers twitch. “It’s worse this time.”

“The pain?” Jack asks, looking up sharply.

“No,” Mac quickly reassures. “I can’t read. I can’t fix anything. I’m… stuck.” 

His left hand worries the gauze again. 

Riley’s heart breaks watching. 

“Then it’s a good thing you have a partner with a voice made for television and audiobooks to help keep you entertained,” Jack says. “We’ll finish up with the eye drops and burns on your face and then you pick a book and I’ll read until you fall asleep.”

Mac turns his face to Jack. 

“Don’t look so surprised, I can read.”

* * *

Riley licks her lips nervously. 

“So what do you think?” she asks looking between the pieces on the table and Bozer. 

“I think it’s taken a day and a half for us to get nowhere. It ought to take Mac at least ten minutes.”

“But what do you think he’ll think about it? I mean, he won’t be offended, right? Or think we’re being patronizing?”

“Mac’s really good at seeing gifts in the spirit in which they’re given.”

“That doesn’t actually make me feel any better, Bozer,” 

Bozer frowns, thinking. “I think he’ll be touched by it, and it might even stump him for a few minutes.”

Riley takes a deep breath.

“Okay,” she says scooping up the pieces and sliding them into the box, slapping the bow on top. “But if he hates it I’m telling him it was completely your idea.”

She stands and turns from the room ignoring Bozer’s protests. If she doesn’t do this now she’s going to completely chicken out. She just hopes they aren’t making a mistake. Making her way down the hall she hears notes from the guitar and smiles to herself. Jack’s certainly been getting his guitar practice over the last day.

She stops for the second time in two days, just before entering the living room, surprised, again, by the sight.

Jack snores lightly on the couch, one leg kicked out, the other bent at the knee. The music is coaxed from the guitar by Mac’s hands. Gentle, soothing notes. 

He pauses mid-strum and listens. “Riley?”

“And Bozer,” he says, pushing past Riley. He’d nearly crashed into her after her sudden stop. 

“I didn’t know you played guitar,” she says as she follows Bozer into the room.

“I don’t,” Mac answers. 

“I just heard you.”

Mac shrugs. “Jack’s been sort of teaching me for,” Mac’s brow furrows, thinking. “Pretty much since we got home from the Army. I’ve got a few chords down. And if you want to do blues riff in B… I’ll watch you for the changes and try to keep up…”

Riley glances between Mac and Bozer as they snicker. It sounds familiar, but she can't place it.

“I can play a really slow clunky version of Johnny B. Goode. Michael J. Fox. Back to the Future.”

“Of course, Jack would teach you something from a movie before teaching anything else,” she smiles affectionately over at the sleeping man on the couch. His breathing not quite as deep as before, so she knows he’s listening. Always aware of what’s going on around him. 

“Is your hand okay?” Riley asks, eyes falling on the bandages that cover the back of Mac’s plucking hand and palm. 

He wriggles his fingers, not quite hiding a wince when the motion pulls on sensitive skin. “Therapy.” 

It’s not fair, the number of times since she’s known him that Mac has lost at least partial use of his hands from painful burns on his skin. She worries about him overdoing it. These burns not nearly as bad as some, but they were reminded as part of Mac’s discharge teaching how easily burns, especially on his hand, can go bad. But she knows Jack is on top of things. He's been pushing fluids til Mac complains. Completing dressing changes twice a day. And stopping Mac from overusing his hands.

She worries again about her idea. 

“So what’s up?” Mac asks, strumming a few more chords. “You guys have been hiding out in Bozer’s room for hours and sounded like you were in a rush to get out here.”

“Oh, um” Riley steps forward. “We got you this.”

Mac puts aside the guitar, a puzzled look on his face. She places the box between his hands. He shakes it gently, as he’s done with every gift she’s ever seen him given. The pieces rattle and his head snaps up concerned.

“I didn’t break it, did I?”

“No, it’s in pieces. That’s Bozer’s fault.”

"Hey!” Bozer protests. “You couldn’t figure it out either!”

“It’s a puzzle,” Riley continues. “There’s a company that makes tactile puzzles for people who are… visually impaired. We thought while you’re healing you might like to have something to keep your hands occupied.” She rushes through the last bit. 

“It’s harder than we thought it would be,” Bozer admits. 

Mac opens the box fingers rubbing on the polished wood. 

“It’s not only for someone who…” Riley breaks off her sentence. “It sounded like something you’d still like even after your eyes heal.”

Mac’s mouth twitches and Riley suddenly regrets her idea, worried that she upset him. It’s harder than normal to read him. She can’t watch for his eyes to sparkle or cloud over and know what he’s thinking She wishes Jack would stop pretending to sleep, sit up and fix everything.

"This is amazing,” Mac says, fitting pieces together in the frame. “How did you even think of doing this?”

Riley tries not to breathe a sigh of relief as she watches him turn the pieces over in his hands. It seemed like a good idea at the time, but the closer she came to hiving it to him the more she worried that he would find it upsetting. That he would think she was giving up on him. 

"Your hands looked sad.” At Mac’s puzzled look she continues. “You’ve always got a project, or pieces of something that you’re working on in your hands. It just looked wrong when they were so still.” 

“I don’t even know what to say,” he swallows hard. “Thank you.”

Riley sits on the armrest of his chair, her arm around his shoulder. “Anything for you, Mac.” When she looks over at the couch she can see a smile on Jack’s lips. 

* * *

_ “I think my eyes are getting better, instead of a big dark blur, I see a big light blur.” _

Maybe Return of the Jedi wasn’t the Star Wars movie to watch tonight. Or in his case listen to. They have very slowly been making through way through the saga, again, watching innumerable times since they were discharged from the army, and the sixth time this year. And Mac wanted something he’d seen before, so he could picture the scenes in his mind. It seemed like a good choice at the time. Han’s post-carbonite blindness isn’t upsetting him, but he felt the room tense when Han announced he couldn’t see.

“This is the Luke Skywalker I wanted to see in The Last Jedi,” Mac says, as they watch the battle taking place over the sarlacc pit. 

Jack gives a half-snort. “Expecting me to believe that Han would leave Leia behind. That he’d just let Luke run off and not follow the kid to the edge of the galaxy. Pfft. Obviously, they don’t understand the family bond Team Falcon has.”

Riley elbows Mac. “You had to get him started.”

Mac gives her a sheepish look, but the attention is suddenly off him as Jack goes into full rant mode about family, disney and four point four billion dollars, which was his goal. Han and Mac’s blindness temporarily forgotten, as Bozer starts egging Jack on, talking about the stylistic choices of the cinematography, as if that makes up for what Jack calls an abomination and character assassination. 

Mac finds himself dozing on the couch listening to the familiar soundtrack and Bozer and Jack’s running commentary, going from arguing to trying to one-up the other on Star Wars trivia. He hopes he can hold onto this sleepy comfortable feeling when he tries to sleep tonight. The last two nights were anything but restful. Jolting awake what felt like every hour, reliving the moment the chemicals erupted into his face. Wondering if there was something he should have noticed that could have spared him.

His follow up appointment is first thing tomorrow morning, something else to keep him awake and worrying all night long. 

The familiar credits roll and he makes a beeline for his bedroom.

“Where are you scurrying off to so fast?” Jack asks. He stands, popping his joints as he stretches out after the inactivity. 

“Thought I’d go to bed early tonight.”

“I got some supplies to make s’more,” Bozer offers, trying to entice Mac with the sticky sweet snack.

“Nah, I’m pretty tired,” Mac says, waving off the concerns. “You guys go ahead though.” 

He’s suddenly the center of attention, and probably concerned frowns again. He gives a quick wave.

“G’night,” he turns without waiting for a reply, and feels his way down the hall. He half-expects Jack to follow him, asking how he feels, demanding Mac submit to having his temperature or pulse taken, making him swallow down another dose of pain medication. Knows it’s taking his partner considerable restraint to stop himself. 

A fire on the deck sounds tempting, but sitting out there without the stars for company hurts a little too much tonight. 

He settles into bed. But he doesn’t sleep.

Tossing in one direction. Turning the other way. 

Unease about tomorrow’s appointment with the ophthalmologist bleeding into his thoughts. His burns aching just enough to keep him on edge. He considers scrounging around on the kitchen counter to try to find his prescription bottles, but he doesn’t want to admit that he’s hurting. And he hates the hangover feeling a drug-induced sleep leaves him with in the morning. He'd rather toss and turn all night and be clearheaded tomorrow for whatever news he's going to get.

He’s flipping back onto his other side as he hears the latch catch on his bedroom door. 

It’s quiet for a moment after the door swings open. He knows he’s being observed. He slows his breathing, forcing himself to relax.

Jack’s firm footsteps cross the room. No attempts to be stealthy, knowing from experience that sneaking through the dark will wake Mac faster than if he clomps across the room. 

“Mac?” Jack asks, his voice soft, waiting for a response before brushing his hand through Mac’s hair, lingering on his forehead. So much for Jack showing restraint. 

“Sleep well, kid.” A moment later the hand leaves his forehead and the footsteps retreat. 

Mac dozes periodically after that. Not quite falling into a deep sleep. He’s irritated. There’s not even a clock to watch the time pass. No moonlight shining through his window on which to blame his restless night. 

In frustration, after waking for what feels like the hundredth time, he gives up, pulling himself from his too warm bed. 

As he’s done the last two days, he feels his way down the hall and into the kitchen, heading for the coffee maker. It’s one of the few things he can do on his own. The usually mindless ritual takes more concentration now, but he finds the monotonous task soothing, distracting. He’s lost track of how many pots of coffee he’s made. 

“You’re up early,” Jack says, following him into the room.

“Couldn’t sleep,” Mac admits. 

“Yeah, I caught that when you were pretending to be asleep when I checked on you.”

Mac shrugs. After years of bunking with Jack, he should have known his partner would be able to tell he wasn’t asleep. He’s a little surprised Jack didn’t call him on it last night.

“But it’s oh-four-hundred, dude. Too early for coffee,” Jack says, easing the bag of coffee grounds from Mac’s hands.

“It’s the perfect time for coffee.”

“Come on now,” Jack tugs gently on Mac’s arm, leading him into the living room, insisting he lay down for a while. 

With reluctance, Mac settles onto the couch. Jack snags the blanket from the back, draping it over him. 

“How long do I have to fake being asleep to get you to let up?”

“No fake sleeping required. You don’t even have to try, just settle in and relax for a while.”

Mac sighs.

“And stop thinking so hard. I didn’t sleep much either, I could hear you thinking clear down the hall.”

“That’s not possible.”

“You make the impossible happen every day, who knows, maybe you mastered telepathy in your spare time.”

“Everything I do is based on science and math,” Mac mumbles around a yawn. 

“Maybe telepathy is science we haven’t figured out yet.”

Mac hums, pulling the blanket higher on his shoulders. 

“And Jedi mind-tricks. If anyone is going to figure that out. It’s gonna be you.”

“Can I--” Mac yawns again. “Can I use it on you when you’re hovering too much?”

“Why do you suppose the mind-tricks worked on the Stormtroopers, but not on the Ewoks.”

“We don’t know that it wouldn’t. Luke didn’t try it.”

“If you were gonna get eaten by furry little murderous teddy bears, wouldn’t you try it?”

“I thought you decided I was right, and the Ewoks weren’t going to eat them.”

“Yeah, you used your Jedi mind powers on me to get me to agree with you, but while I was up, listening to you think too hard, I got to thinking too. Now, just hear me out on this,”

Mac smiles, snuggling deeper into the couch cushions, listening to the familiar timbre of Jack mid-storytelling. 

“They put ‘em on a spit, Mac. They were gonna slow roast them over an open fire. Toast ‘em like marshmallows, get their insides all mushy…”

It feels like moments later, Jack is shaking his shoulder. 

“Hey, bud, time for some breakfast.”

Mac frowns, stretching on the couch, pointing his toes and arching his back. He had just gotten comfortable and cozy, and the idea of getting up is much less appealing now. “It’s too early for coffee but breakfast is fine?” He questions in annoyance.

“That was like three hours ago, dude. You didn’t even listen to my Ewok theory.”

Mac sits up. “Three hours?”

“Yep,” He can hear the smile in Jack’s voice, his conniving plan to get Mac to fall asleep again worked. 

Mac would roll his eyes if the effect wouldn’t be lost. 

“You got enough time for breakfast,”

Mac wrinkles his nose.

“Then meds, a shower and eye drops before your appointment.” 

The cozy, relaxed feelings from a moment ago disappears into cold reality as he remembers his appointment. He feels his heart rate tick upwards and passes on the coffee, already feeling jittery enough. 

He hurries through his morning routine, fingers feeling especially clumsy this morning, floundering for the soap and fumbling with the toothpaste. 

In the car, Jack launches into another rambling story. If asked Mac wouldn’t be able to remember the topic. Or topics, definitely more than one where Jack is concerned. He tries to focus on the rumble of Jack’s voice and the rev of the GTO’s engine, familiar, listening as Jack smoothly changes gears and the vehicle responds to his touch. 

Warm sunlight streams through the window. He inhales slowly and holds his breath for a beat, using the rhythmic action to calm his racing heart. 

He’s nearly gotten a handle on his anxious nerves when he feels the momentum of the car slowing.

“We’re here, bud.”

Mac nods. It’s time. Jack directs him through the parking lot and inside. A bell tingles over the door as they enter.

“No one else waiting, and there’s a pretty lady in scrubs at the desk about six feet ahead" Jack murmurs as he leads Mac through the small waiting area to the reception desk. Jack has kept a steady commentary through the last two days, even beyond his usual stream of consciousness rambles, subtly letting Mac know anything he would normally rely on his sight for, exactly where he or other occupants of the room are at all times, the time of day, and anything that might get in his way.

He's grateful that he's the first appointment of the day. No one to watch him stumble through the office. They don't make him sit in the waiting room, instead immediately lead him back.

“You sure you don’t want me to come back with ya?” Jack asks. His voice sounds casual, to someone who doesn’t know him. 

But Mac can hear it. 

Telling Jack that he didn’t want him to stay, well, it was the first time Mac’s been grateful for the bandages covering his eyes, so he couldn’t see the hurt that flashed in Jack’s eyes before he hid it away. Mostly. Mac knows it would still be lingering there. He thought not seeing it would make it easier to stand his ground, but imagining the look turned in his direction is almost as bad. Hearing the forced nonchalance, his resolve almost breaks. 

Mac nods. “I’ll be fine.” 

“I’ll be in the waiting room then,” Jack pauses, as if waiting for Mac to change his mind. 

“If I need you I’ll send someone to get you.”

“Yeah, okay, hoss.” Jack steps away, allowing a stranger to lead Mac back to the exam room. 

It would be so easy to let Jack stay. 

He knows he’ll be forced to relay every moment, every word Dr. Sun says. He wants to let Jack stay. Lean on his steady presence when everything else in his life feels like it's in a constant upheaval. Spinning around him and he’s groping for something calm and familiar. 

But he can’t do that. 

If its bad news he’s going to need a minute, more than a minute to slide his poker face firmly into place. To process his options.

He can’t expect Jack to stop everything and hold his hand every time life gets tough. Jack shouldn’t have to put his life on hold just because he chose to stick around that day in the desert all those years ago. He signed up as an overwatch, not a babysitter.

Mac knows he’s come to rely too heavily on Jack. Expecting Jack will always be there, to fix his problems and shoulder some of his burdens. But Mac’s perfectly capable of standing on his own two feet. He practically raised himself. Was on his own for years before he ever knew Jack. He’s just forgotten what that was like, but he’d better start getting used to it again. 

The room is dark when the bandages are removed. Not enough light to see much of anything, shadows, impressions, all still too fuzzy to identify. Dr. Sun doesn't even make him attempt to read the eye chart.

He rubs his fingertips lightly against his pant legs.

He follows Dr. Sun's directions to look straight ahead, forcing himself not to flinch from the piercing light of the slit lamp.

"Mac, I'm going use fluorescein to stain your eye and get a better look at the structures."

Mac tips his head back as directed. There's a mild burn as the doctor uses the paper strip to apply the dye. This time, when she uses her lamp to examine his eyes, everything is blue. 

Up, down, left and right, and gently tugging to invert his eyelids and see beneath the surface.

"There is still a lot of inflammation on each of your corneas," Dr. Sun says as she sits back on her stool and moves the equipment away from Mac's face. "It's not unexpected, not with the severity of the exposure. I was optimistic that given your usual eye health we might see improvement already with the steroids and lubricating drops, but it looks like it could take several days or even weeks to heal."

"Weeks?" Mac says slowly. "I would be in bandages for weeks?" He feels a mild sense of panic. Though he slept through most of Sunday, Monday’s long hours wore on. The puzzle his friends gave him helped to pass the time, but by the end of the day, he was feeling stifled and bored as though in some sort of enforced confinement. He didn’t feel up to going out into the world yet. The idea overwhelming him. 

"I don't want you straining your eyes. Especially the right one. I'm going to prescribe an additional eye drop for you."

"What's wrong?" Mac mentally runs through the last few days. They've been diligent about the eye drops, following the directions to the letter. Mac's been taking his antibiotics and prescribed vitamins, and getting plenty of rest.

"There are a few small areas that I'm concerned could become infected, or turn into an ulcer," she continues. 

Dr. Sun continues to explain, but Mac can barely hear it through the rushing sound in his ears. He thought he was prepared to hear bad news. That nothing she said today would be able to shake him. He was wrong.

The ride home is quiet. Subdued.

"It's only been two days, Mac."

Mac doesn't reply.

"She said it's still early. And she's got you on more eye drops to help."

"I was already on four. What's one more going to do?"

Jack scrubs his face. "Well... uh... something about dilating..."

"I'm not actually looking for an answer," Mac replies with a hint of a smile. "I heard the explanation. It's just frustrating."

Jack reaches over and pats Mac lightly on the shoulder. Mac flinches at the surprise touch, then relaxes against the warm hand. The tension in his neck and shoulders releasing.

* * *

Jack hopes that today's appointment will be less emotionally exhausting for Mac. Phoenix Med, while not either agents' favorite place, is at least familiar, and there's a certain level of comfort and control Jack feels while walking in. He knows and trusts these people, not only with his own life and health, but with Mac's. That doesn't come easily to Jack.

He can feel the slight hesitation in Mac's steps as he leads Mac back to the exam room.

"You alright, bud," Jack leans back toward Mac and murmurs.

"Just feel a little like I'm on display," Mac admits.

Jack brought him through the back entrance, hoping to minimize stares and sympathetic clucks from observers, silenced by Jack's glares, but he knows Mac still felt the eyes on him. For the first time ever he hears Mac breathe a sigh of relief when they enter the room.

Jack directs him toward the table, standing by as Mac situates himself, legs dangling over the edge, and Jack plants himself next to Mac and stays. After Mac walked out with a stricken look on his face yesterday, Jack’s not about to let himself be banished from the room. And Mac doesn’t argue. 

He's relieved that Mac is almost never kept waiting. He gets too anxious sitting here, feet dangling over the edge of the table, feeling vulnerable.

Dr. McClain listens intently to Mac's chest, instructing Mac to take deep breaths, wanting to follow up, make sure that his airway remained clear after the potential chemical exposure and initial exam. He didn't need to come down with a chemically induced pneumonia on top of everything else.

Mac continues to deny any shortness of breath or chest discomfort, but reluctantly agrees to a follow-up chest x-ray.

Jack steps out into the hall, squeezing Mac's shoulder encouragingly as he leaves, before the tech wheels the portable machine into Mac's room. He leans against the wall, and squeezes the bridge of his nose. He hears soft footsteps coming toward him.

"You've been avoiding me," Matty says.

"Yeah, and it hasn't been easy." Maybe if he keeps his eyes closed she will disappear.

"We need to talk about when you're coming back to work."

"Well, we don't even see the doctor again until Tuesday," Jack says finally opening his eyes and looking at his boss. "And based on what she said last time, I don’t imagine we’ll get clearance anytime soon. Probably a couple more weeks of eye drops.”

"Mac sees the doctor on Tuesday."

"Yeah," Jack raises an eyebrow confused. "That's what I said."

"You've got two eyes and two legs and no injuries that I'm aware of that would keep you benched."

"I don't have Mac," Jack says with a slight furrow of his brow and a shake of his head.

"You've run missions without him."

"Yeah, well, y'all tried that a couple of years ago and look how well that went."

"Jack," her tone warning.

"Matilda," he interrupts. "You know that I'd do anything for you, or for Bozer and Riley, but I haven't heard about any of you are getting shipped off on any mission that would require my expertise. And Desi's more'n capable of handling things for me until we're off medical leave."

"Mac is on medical leave."

"The only reason I'm here is for Mac. If he's on leave, I'm on leave. Now, if you need me for a few hours in the morning to run some TAC sims or something, fine, but I'm not heading off for parts unknown without him. I'm not leaving him."

"I'm not asking you to abandon him."

Jack shrugs. "You're not changing my mind." 

"And what if he can't come back? What if this was career ending?" She asks the question that's been on his mind for the last few days. The one he's been trying to bury.

“Then we’ll figure it out. No use borrowing trouble until we have more answers.”

“You’ll walk away?”

“If Mac’s out, then I’m out,” Jack says. "But you should know better'n anyone, Matty, not to underestimate him."

The door opens and the tech rolls the x-ray machine out of the exam room.

"Now, unless you have some other dumb questions, I'm gonna get back to my boy." 

* * *

Jack plucks the opening chords of a song that sounds familiar, but Mac can't place right now.

"Come on, you know this one," Jack encourages, humming a few bars. Mac's thoughts aren't on the notes Jack is coaxing from the strings of his guitar. It's been an amusing way to help pass the last few days, Jack picking some obscure classic rock songs for Mac to identify.

Mac's felt cold since leaving Phoenix Med. He knows Jack can feel the tension radiating off of him, which is why he's being extra attentive, sticking close, following Mac out to the deck, leaving only to grab him a blanket when he noticed Mac shivering despite the warm sunshine heating the air. And then again to make some sandwiches with the fixings Bozer left.

Mac dutifully ate lunch and took his pills, but the conversation is stilted and one-sided despite Jack's attempts to engage him. He can't even get Mac to correct or laugh at his purposefully wrong lyrics.

"I heard your discussion with Matty," Mac says, fingers tracing patterns he can't see in the condensation on his glass of lemonade.

"I don't know that one. Hum a few bars for me?"

"It's the one where Matty tells you it's time to go back to work. That you're not the one on leave."

"That is a classic, but kind of a one-hit wonder. Can't even be called a hit though, because, for all the bluster, nothing came of it."

"Jack, I heard the conversation."

"Then you heard me tell her that I'm taking some personal leave."

"You can't give up your life for me."

"I'm only here for you. You go kaboom, I go kaboom, yeah, but it doesn't have to be that dramatic; you retire, I retire. You're on the bench, I am too."

"You can't live your life like that," Mac argues.

"It's how I've been living my life for almost nine years. I'm not planning on stoppin'."

"Jack," Mac protests. "What if there's a mission they need your experience for. There are people counting on you."

"Family comes first. Matty knows that. Or she should by now. I go back when you go back."

Mac opens his mouth then closes it.

"What if I can't go back," he asks quietly.

"Then we figure something else out, together."

"The Phoenix is your home."

"A place isn't really home, it's the people."

"So Riley," Mac argues. "Riley is family too, what if she needs you."

"We won't make any hasty decisions. If we decide to leave the Phoenix we'll make sure that Riley, Bozer, Leanna, and Des are in a place where they can take care of things. And I'll make sure that if they really, truly need us for something that they can get a hold of us," Jack answers, he's already been, on a superficial level, thinking through the next steps of a worst-case scenario.

"I can't ask you to give up your life and your career like this."

"Good thing you don't have to ask then," Jack says. "I ain't leaving you."

"So you're going to spend the rest of your life making me sandwiches and playing old rock songs?"

"I mean I was going to do that anyway. Things haven't changed that much."

Mac huffs.

"Where is this pessimism coming from? Did McClain say somethin'?"

"I'm capable of following the evidence to its logical conclusion."

"What evidence? It hasn't even been a week. We haven't seen Dr. Sun again."

“I don’t think she’s going to tell me that I’m miraculously healed.” 

“No, no I suppose not, but I don’t think we’ve used up our quota of miracles quite yet. Even if they're the long way 'round type of miracles.

Mac pulls the blanket higher around his shoulders. "I just don't think you should get your hopes up."

* * *

Mac reaches up, pulling away the gauzy patches as he reclines on the couch. He turns his eyes in Jack’s general direction, but they miss the mark; his eyeline just off center, not quite meeting Jack’s face. 

A milky film of inflammation clouds Mac's blue irises, and each time he sees those sightless eyes Jack feels his heart clench. He misses watching Mac’s expressive eyes shine with laughter as he teases Jack, or light up when he has an idea, especially one he thinks Jack won’t like. 

Right now, Jack even longs to see them flash with anger. Anything is better than expressionless and bracketed with lines of pain. 

"Is something wrong?" Mac asks, after a moment when Jack hasn't moved.

Jack shakes himself. "Nope, just making sure I got the right drops here. Alright, ready?" He lies, needing to be strong for Mac. He can let himself think about never seeing those blue eyes again. With one hand he pulls back on Mac's upper and lower lids, then administers the drop before repeating the action on the other side.

"Hey! I'm getting better at this! I haven't poked you in the eyeball in a couple of days."

Mac grunts. "Yeah. You'll be an expert in a week or two."

"Well, I don't know about expert..." Jack's voice trails off. He doesn't want to be an expert.

Mac sighs with a frown.

"You okay?"

"Yeah," Mac replies wearily. "Just thinking."

When Mac doesn't elaborate Jack jumps in. "You don't have to do so much hard thinkin' right now. Give your brain a rest."

"My brain's had a rest. I'm tired of resting. It's been six days and it could be a few more weeks."

"Goin' a little stir crazy," Jack agrees. He feels the tension humming under Mac’s skin. 

"Long past going," Mac shakes his head. "You're usually more restless than I am. You could actually leave and go somewhere, how are you so... relaxed."

"You got me reading all kinds of books, testing my vocabulary and my scientific knowledge, and reaching back into the far recesses of my musical memory to keep you on your toes." 

"You don't have to stay here and... entertain me."

Jack pushes Mac's head back for the next round of drops.

"Keeping you entertained has been an interesting challenge," Jack teases. They’ve each learned the hard way that a bored Mac is a dangerous Mac. He builds and tinkers and that’s why there’s at least one fire extinguisher in every room of the house, and the Phoenix. One in each of Jack’s cars and three hidden out on the deck. 

He’s worried that soon, despite the distractions provided by his family, Mac might decide to start tinkering, sans eyesight and Jack’s not sure what kind of robotic monstrosities or explosions might come from that. 

"I don't want you to feel like you have to stick around."

"I want to," Jack says simply. It’s not fear of the robotic apocalypse that keeps Jack around. And he trusts Mac’s abilities, even visually impaired. Mac, despite his claims otherwise is still hurting, physically and emotionally, and this is exactly where Jack wants to be right now. 

Mac slides an arm behind his head, and shuts his mouth. Realizing he has no chance of winning this circular argument, Jack thinks smugly. No one argues quite like Jack. 

"Alright, come on, up," Jack says, clapping Mac's shoulder after finishing the last of the drops, and wrapping his eyes, pulling him up from the couch. "Let's go." He has an idea.

"Go where?" Mac grumbles, dragging his feet as Jack steers him through the house, past the kitchen and into the garage. 

"Step down," Jack instructs.

"Where are we going?" Mac asks with a frown. "I don't have an appointment today."

"I know."

"I don't want to go anywhere," Mac says. “I’m not ready for that.”

"We're not," Jack says. The world outside of home and The Phoenix is a challenge for another day. 

He leads Mac to the work bench, placing one of Mac’s hands on the table top and the other on the stool next to it, helping to orient him to the room.

“You promised to help me get the Corvette working again and I’m gonna hold you to that.” 

It’s been slow progress over the last six months since the crash that nearly took Jack’s leg. The car declared totaled after being t-boned. They squeeze in garage time between missions and after work. Rebuilding Jack’s baby piece by piece. 

Jack is hoping that the change of activity will help ease Mac’s restless boredom. 

Mac's jaw clenches. "In case you didn't notice, or forgot, I can't see."

"Nothing's wrong with your hearing."

"So I'm going to listen to you fix the car?"

"Remember Spencer? He could listen to any engine and identify it. Could tell you what the trouble was from listening to an audio clip of the engine running while in Blackhawk in a hurricane and still tell you how to fix it."

Mac snorts. "Everything was distinctive."

"Don't tell me you can't do the same." Jack baits him, watching Mac settle onto the stool, crossing his arms stubbornly, but Jack can tell he's weakening. He wants to help. Wants something to feel normal.

Jack turns over the engine. "You hearing that?"

Mac listens to the engine rumble. Jack can almost see the wheels turning in Mac's head as he mentally traces out the schematics. "It almost sounds like the alternator but... not quite." Mac cocks his head, listening.

He hears a clunk of metal as Jack peers into the engine.

"What about the belt for the water pump,” Mac asks, envisioning the engine that he’s spent years tinkering with on Sunday afternoons, under Jack’s watchful eyes to make sure he didn’t add too many paperclips. 

"Hmm,” Jack murmurs. “Would you look at that, nice catch, hoss."

Mac frowns. "You didn't need me for that. You probably could see the problem before I could hear it."

"I like having you around. Fills in the quiet."

"If you really need help filling the quiet, which I doubt, there's the radio."

"You're more fun," Jack says. There’s another clunk of metal "Think I'm gonna need to come up from underneath, can't reach the belt from here. Good thing I left it up on the blocks last time. On your left, about ten o'clock, is a screwdriver set. Hand me the quarter inch attachment, would ya?"

Mac walks his fingers across the workbench, finding the tool set, carefully feeling each attachment, the sizes engraved on the handles. A small smile plays at his lips as he finds the correct one and holds it out to Jack.

Jack over exaggerates a groan as he lowers himself to the garage floor and starts to slide under the car.

"You've got safety glasses on, right?" Mac asks quietly.

Jack pauses half under the vehicle, hearing the pain and loss in Mac's voice.

"One of us needs to be able to see."

"Yeah, I got 'em on," Jack assures, eyes softening as he looks up at Mac, a pained smile on his face.

Mac nods, swallowing. "Good," he clears his throat. "Hopefully those parts Riley ordered last week will get here soon." He turns his head, thinking. "What day is it?"

"It's Friday."

"Morning?"

"Almost eleven."

Mac crosses his arms again with a sigh. "Every time I think 'this is the worst part of... of this' something else comes along. The time thing isn't really the worst, but it's just another reminder of how--" his voice breaks off, and he shakes his head. "How much I have to rely on other people. On you guys. It's not fair to you."

"Mac," Jack's voice is soft. "We're with you. We're here because we want to be, because we love you. You're not a burden."

"You have to stop me from walking into my own furniture, and help me put drops in my eyes because I can't hold the bottle with the burns on my hand. Make sure I'm not walking around with food on my face."

"This is just a new temporary challenge, no different than you helping me get around on crutches, or helping Bozer change the surgical dressing on his stab wound."

"Except this might not be temporary," Mac yells.

"Then we'll deal with that too," Jack says calmly, even though he wants to yell back and shake some sense into his partner. "I heard you were planning to fix the Corvette so I'd be able to drive it with one leg if it came down to that."

Mac shrugs.

"Sounds like you were planning to long-haul it with me."

"Well, yeah..."

"Why would this be any different?" Jack asks. He knows. It stems from a lifetime of being left behind. No matter how many times Jack has promised to stay, how many times he's made good on that promise, Mac is always waiting for the moment when Jack quits on him.

"Eventually, Matty or Oversight are going to insist that you get back to work."

"We had this discussion already, hoss. Thought if you couldn't see your other senses were supposed to get stronger, but obviously your hearing's as bad as usual."

"But how long before you get that itch to shoot or punch something?"

"An itch that can be scratched with a shooting range or a punching bag."

Mac shakes his head. "I can't ask you to do that."

"I told ya, you don't have to ask."

Mac continues as if Jack hadn't spoken. "Something will come up. Just one mission, something local. You'll insist on that because you don't want to be gone for too long. But sooner or later it's going to be longer missions, in far away places."

"Mac..."

"And why should you keep coming back here when I'm not part of your life anymore?"

"You're not just part of my life because we're partners, hoss. You're family."

Mac shrugs. "You don't see your blood relatives that often. Once or twice a year, holidays or if you're feeling guilty. I don't need your pity."

Jack's mouth snaps shut at Mac's spiraling emotions. He doesn't know what to address first, but the kid is hurting bad enough that he needs to tread lightly, speak softy, and probably go after James with a big stick... to paraphrase the first President Roosevelt.

"And what about your Delta Unit? We were partnered for seven years before I met any of them. You haven't seen Worthy since we rescued him last year."

"Now, I might not have seen Worthy since then, but we keep up. We text."

"Great," Mac says sarcastically. "Maybe I can have someone come by and read my text messages to me. They have an app for that, right?"

"Mac," Jack protests, weakly. These are some of the first real emotions he's seen from Mac since the accident. He's been bottling them up for the last week, pretending to be okay.

And maybe that's Jack's fault. In an attempt to keep Mac from dwelling on worst case scenarios, he's kept up steady reassurances. But these emotions have been bubbling under the surface. That surface is cracking like the crust of the earth above a volcano, and they need to come out. A release valve so that Mac can keep going.

"Did you promise to be there for Thorpe, after he lost his legs?"

Jack clenches his fist and presses his mouth into a firm thin line. He's going to take whatever Mac spews at him, because Mac needs it, and because Jack deserves it. He shouldn't have let it get this far. Should have forced some of these emotions to the surface sooner. He could have been more annoying, hovered a little harder, cracked the seal on these emotions a little earlier.

"I'm not asking you to give up your life for me, Jack. I'm just asking you to be realistic."

"No, no. I admit that I didn't do such a great job keeping up with the guys after we got home, either time, but that's different. You know what it's like coming home from war with all those demons chasing you."

"Okay, sure, I'll give you that. It is hard. But I bet you promised Diane and Riley you'd stick around. That story is a little unclear, did you tell them goodbye or did you just disappear? I want to know if I should worry if I wake up one morning you're gone." 

Jack recoils as if Mac dealt a physical blow. He tries to tamp down the pain Mac's words cause, resist the urge to argue and yell words of defense. He knows that Mac is lashing out in pain and fear, and tries not to take the words personally even though they sting and prick his conscience.

He abandoned Riley, just like James abandoned Mac. Of course, Mac would be able to see those parallels. It's only fair that Mac would be skittish.

"You know better'n anyone that I'm not perfect. I've made a lot of mistakes in my life. I hope that I've learned from them, and that my track record these last eight and a half years speaks for itself." Jack crosses the garage. He reaches out, placing his hand on Mac's shoulder.

Mac shrugs out from his touch. "Just get out."

"Mac..."

"Stop it! Go home. I don't want you here."

Jack pauses.

He gapes at Mac, before turning to the door. Then he stops. "No, no, I think that would be a mistake right now. If you want some time, need to be alone for a little bit I get that, and I'll give you a little space, but I'm not leaving."

"This isn't a test."

"Good. I always hated pop quizzes in school. Usually failed 'em."

"Is everything always a joke with you or can you ever be serious?"

"I'm sorry, Mac. I'm not taking this lightly."

Mac huffs.

"I know you're hurtin', hoss."

"I'm not."

Jack mentally counts to ten. "Okay. Well, I am. Dealing with a situation that would overwhelm anyone. It's overwhelming me, the thought that you might lose your sight. That fear is always there, in the back of my mind this last week. Even though I've got faith in you and Dr. Sun and McClain, it scares me." He can see Mac trembling. Every instinct in him wants to reach out and offer comfort. "Maybe we're all a little on edge because we're coming to terms with a loss."

"Are you reading those armchair psychology books or is this tip from your massage therapist?"

"I think you know that I'm right," Jack says, reaching out. "I think that's why you're so prickly right now." His touch is tentative, but Mac still flinches at the contact.

"I just want some time, okay?"

"Alright," Jack says quietly. Mac has always processed things his way, and usually that's with a lot of time. He can't be rushed. "You stayin' out here?"

"Yeah. I'll be fine," Mac says with a sardonic expression on his face. "Just go for a while."

Jack debates, before nodding, for himself because Mac can't see him. "Okay. I'll give you a little time. But I'm not leaving. I'm coming back. Bozer's inside, call him if you need something."

"I don't need any help."

"There's just a lot of junk in here," Jack starts, looking around the garage at the half-built engines and refrigerators, then stops when he sees Mac's scowl. "Alright, I'll be back soon."

He walks toward the house, pausing at the doorway for a moment to look back at Mac. His face stony. His jaw clenching and relaxing as he tries to tamp down on his emotions. Jack can’t help feeling that he handled this all wrong. He almost changes his mind, walks back and parks himself on one of the other stools and waits. 

Mac needs space, he decides. Mac’s put up with a lot of hovering over the last week. And Jack won’t leave him for long. He pulls open the door leading into the kitchen and steps inside. 

Bozer scurries in the kitchen trying to pretend he couldn't hear the argument, but his guilty face gives him away.

"I wasn't trying to listen in."

"We weren't exactly being quiet," Jack scrubs a hand over his face. "Will you be around for a while?"

"Yeah," Bozer answers slowly. "Where are you going?"

"Take a drive. Clear my head. Grab some stuff from home," at Bozer's concerned look he continues. "I'll be back. An hour. Two tops." he promises as he leaves the house. 

He rolls down the windows of the GTO, letting the warm breeze wash over him, letting his mind wander. On autopilot, he heads for his apartment, takes a long hot shower. His brain still chewing on his discussion with Mac. He trims his beard, and packs a new bag of fresh clothes.

His cell phone is in his hand before he realizes what he's doing, and he's punching in a number he hasn't used in a year, hoping his old access codes will still get him through on the secure line, or that at least the man he's trying to reach will recognize the number and answer.

He feels lighter as he drives back to Mac's.

Tapping on the garage service door, he doesn't want to startle Mac if he's still puttering out there, it's been about ninety minutes since he left.

The garage is empty.

Jack crosses the room, halfway through a tangy scent makes his nose twitch. He looks down.

"No. No. No," he prays. Drawing his gun he follows the blood trail into the house.

  



	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You might recognize a another friend of Jack's mentioned in this chapter, Auggie Anderson from Cover Affairs

Mac scowls listening to Jack's slow footsteps cross the concrete garage floor. He hears Jack pause at the door, turning back. He's preparing to unleash another barbed comment when the door clicks shut.

Suddenly, getting Jack to leave doesn't feel as much like a win as he thought it would. He crosses his arms to hide the sudden tremble. The outpouring of emotions surprised him, a fissure of pain, running deeper than he realized.

He reaches out for the screwdriver set, letting his fingers run across the cool metal, identifying each tool by the engraved numbers.

The door from the kitchen opens again. Slowly, tentatively. 

"Don't start, Boze," Mac warns, recognizing his roommate's footsteps as he comes into the garage.

"Wasn't going to," Bozer says.

"I don't need everyone hanging around here, disrupting their lives."

"No one feels that way though, Mac," Bozer says, treading lightly. He only caught bits and pieces of Mac's argument with Jack, but he saw the aftermath on Jack's face. Sees it on Mac's too, though he's trying harder to hide it. But Bozer's known Mac longer than anyone. Lived with him for years. He was there when Mac's dad left. When Harry died. When Mac spiraled and joined the army and in the aftermath of Mac's tour. He knows Mac's moods, sometimes reading him even better than Jack.

"You just came out here for fun?"

"Alright, alright," Bozer says, holding up his hands in mock surrender, then dropping them as his playful gesture goes unnoticed. "I'm mother-henning, I get it. I'll be in the kitchen if you need me."

"I've lived here for years, I can get around without someone needing to hold my hand every damn minute." Mac growls as Bozer goes back into the house. He knows he's being unnecessarily stubborn. If Bozer had waited a few more minutes to come out to check on him, he might have asked for an assist to maneuver the less familiar garage. He couldn't help the flare of anger. Hates these feelings of vulnerability and helplessness.

He's not sulking. Maybe Jack was right. He's coming to terms with his loss. Anger is a normal part of the grieving process. Psychology isn't his strong suit, a soft science, Mac likes facts, he likes to be able to predict reactions and outcomes, but he's dealt with enough loss in his life to be familiar with the stages of grief.

He needs to get used to doing things for himself, because he might never see again.

With that last self-pitying thought, he rises from the workbench, carefully shuffling through the garage, trying to remember the layout from their last Corvette restoring party, and hoping things having been moved too much since then.

Arms out in front of him, each step is tentative. He thinks he's nearing the door when his foot catches. He goes down. Hard. Swallowing a cry of pain as he feels his shin split open. To his dismay, the clatter is loud enough for Bozer to hear.

"Mac?" Footsteps rush to him.

"I tripped. It's fine," Mac grinds out between clenched teeth. He feels hot angry tears prickling in his eyes, and hopes they'll be absorbed by the gauze patches before anyone can see them. "I can do it."

"No one is saying that you can't, Mac. But we're trying to tell you, that you don't have to do it alone," Bozer's voice is soft.

He gives up what feels like the last fraying remnants of his pride and accepts Bozer's help into the house, allowing his friend to guide him into the bathroom and settle him on the side of the tub. He feels blood running steadily down his leg.

"This is kind of deep," Bozer says, pulling open the cabinet under the sink and rustling around for their fully stocked first aid kit. He hands Mac some gauze as he searches through the rest of the kit. "Do you think you should have this looked at?"

"You are," Mac says, adjusting his hold to apply more pressure and slow the bleeding.

"I meant like medical."

Mac shakes his head. "I've seen too many doctors lately."

"But--"

"I don't need to bother them with this. It'll be fine."

"Maybe--"

"Are you going to help me, or not?" Mac asks, his tone terse. “Otherwise just leave and I’ll take care of it myself.

"No, no, I'll help, just gotta find..." Bozer rummages through the kit again, a bit too loudly.

Mac lets his head thump back against the side of the tub. "Don't text Jack."

"I'm not," Bozer squeaks in protest.

"Or Riley."

Bozer sighs. "Alright. I won't tell anyone." At Mac's pointed look he continues. "I promise."

He tries to engage Mac in conversation as he works. Cleaning up the cut has Mac hissing, and an occasional flinch when the soap and water burns against the cut, but that's the extent a response he gets. He pulls the edges together, securing them with steristrips, leftover from old injuries. Their first aid kit is stocked too well with leftover supplies sent home with them from too many trips to medical. He thinks Jack would have put some stitches in, but he promised Mac he wouldn't call for reinforcements. And right now, Bozer is pretty sure the most important thing is letting Mac have some control over his spiraling life.

"Thanks," Mac says quietly as Bozer finishes, covering the wound with bandages.

Bozer pats Mac's shoulder. "We got your back, Mac."

"Yeah, I know."

"That doesn't mean that this doesn't suck."

Mac snorts.

"You don't have to go it alone. And you don't have to be okay all the time."

* * *

Jack bursts through the door of the kitchen, gun drawn.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Bozer yells, arms flying up in the air.

"Bozer!"

"Jack!" Bozer squeaks. "What the hell?"

"There's blood in the garage."

"Oh my God," Bozer's voice continues at the higher octave. "There was almost blood in the kitchen."

"I wasn't going to shoot you."

"How am I supposed to know that when you come in here guns blazing?"

"Where's Mac? What happened?" Jack asks securing his weapon.

Bozer's hand covers the left side of his chest. "You almost stopped my heart. I'm sure of it."

"I still might if you don't tell me where Mac is."

"Good to know where my wellbeing lies in your priorities."

"You're breathing and upright and currently have no bleeding wounds," Jack warns.

"On the deck, wait, stop," Bozer hisses, catching Jack's arm before he can burst out onto the deck. "He tripped over some spare parts coming in from the garage. He banged up his leg, but it's fine."

"You sure?"

"Cleaned and bandaged."

"Okay." 

“He needs a friend right now, not a caretaker.”

“Yeah,” Jack agrees. He stops at the refrigerator and pulls out two cold beers. He winks and puts a finger to his lips to silence Bozer’s protests. Then he heads for the deck where Mac is sitting, leg elevated, he can see the start of bruising peeking out from under the dressing and his face turned toward the sun.

Mac is biting his lip as Jack approaches. It hurts to see Mac uncertain, worried about what Jack's going to say.

Jack nudges his arm with the cold bottle.

"What--?"

"Figured we could both use it. And you're not really taking the pain meds anymore," Jack shrugs. "I won't tell if you won't."

Mac accepts the bottle, rolling it between his hands. 

"I'm sorry..." Mac's voice trails off.

“Me too, hoss. I was scared. I am scared, but I figured you had enough going on without me adding to it. Instead of letting you talk about I just kept telling you that everything was going to be fine, and that nothing was going to change. 

"A lot might change," Mac takes a sip from his bottle.

"Maybe, but I think I figured out a plan for that."

"Retiring," Mac sighs.

"Nope," Jack grins and Mac looks up at the glee in Jack's voice.

"What did you do?"

"Now, I know we don't have all the answers right now. And it could be a while before we do, so this is a contingency plan," Jack begins. He hooks a foot around a nearby chair, scooting closer to Mac with a screech, then plops down next to him.

"You're not giving up hope, I get it."

"Buddy of mine, I was attached to his unit for a while when we were hunting for the Jack of Diamonds, in the terrorist deck. We were getting close, but then I got reassigned. I was pretty pissed about that. You know me, I hate to leave a mission unfinished."

Mac smiles to himself, letting Jack tell his story in his own rambling way.

"But I guess it was a blessing in disguise, because if I hadn't been, there's a good chance I wouldn't have been around to get assigned as your Overwatch. The whole thing is still classified but I heard that the whole unit was taken out by a traitor and an IED."

Jack clears his throat. "It made getting assigned as Overwatch sting a little less. I'd want to go after the traitor myself. But I guess protecting the guys that made sure other guys didn't end up like Auggie was almost as good." He smiles. "Turned out to be the best thing that could have happened."

"I'm sorry about your unit."

"Well, that's the best part."

Mac's brows join as he tries to follow Jack's story and how that applies to his contingency plan.

"Well, not the best part,” Jack shakes his head. “A couple years ago, I was at Langley, minding my own business, trying to sweet talk myself out of trouble when I hear someone call my name, and it's Auggie. Still alive. Working for the CIA. The IED didn't kill him, and he's still an operative."

"I'm glad, but still not..."

"He's blind, Mac. One of the best operatives I’ve ever worked with, and he can’t see a damn thing.”

Mac licks his lips. “Really?” There’s a note of hope that’s been missing from his voice the last few days.

“Now, a majority of his work is done from behind a screen and over comms, especially as he was learning how to deal with just living his life and everything,” Jack says to temper Mac's expectations.

“Oh, great,” Mac says, his tone dips back to glum.

“But he still goes into the field.”

Mac nods, dispirited.

“He got the Jack of Hearts.”

Mac’s interest is piqued again. “He did?”

“Auggie identified him in the field, then went and got him,” Jack says, leaning closer. "And no offense to Auggie, but you're the smartest guy I know. If he can do that, you can do that." 

* * *

Jack rambles all the time, but especially when he gets nervous.

Mac twists paperclips, disassembles pens and tinkers all the time, but especially when he gets nervous.

And Bozer cooks gourmet multi-course dinners and elaborate desserts, especially when he's nervous. And in the last eight years since learning Mac's true profession, he has cooked his way through Julia Child's and about nineteen other best-seller cookbooks.

Riley is chopping vegetables, cabbage, snow peas and pineapple for Bozer’s secret salsa. She’s eating vegetable combinations on tacos that she never dreamed of. 

Bozer bounces between his sweet and tangy sauce bubbling on the stove and the stand mixer swirling brownie batter. 

Today is the day. Mac’s follow up with Dr. Sun. Ten days since Mac’s injury. Ten days of eye drops, bandages. Mac stumbling through the house. Riley, Bozer, and Jack trying not to be too hovery. Trying to be helpful. And today they get a real prognosis. 

Her head immediately snaps up at the sound of the car pulling into the driveway. She feels Bozer freeze at the stove. Then forces herself to keep her focus on the cutting board, the knife slicing through vegetables.

The door opens. It's quiet. No laughing or joking or furious discussion. Riley leans forward to peer around the cabinets and see the entryway.

The bandages are off.

For the first time in a week, she can see Mac's entire face and a smile pulls at her lips.

She can just make out the low murmur of Jack's drawl. She sets the knife down as Bozer moves to stand next to her, also leaning on the counter to get a better look at the scene near the door.

Mac shrugs off Jack's hand, and turns down the hallway towards his bedroom, leaving Jack standing there. A moment later the distant click of the bedroom door closing.

Slowly, Jack turns from where he watched Mac disappear and walk into the kitchen. He doesn't look up, avoiding the questioning gazes he knows are watching him, looking to him for answers.

Riley clutches Bozer's arm, watching, waiting.

"Smells good, Boze," Jack says.

Bozer finds his voice first. "Jack?"

Jack looks up, eyes reddened. "He's just upset." Jack brushes a hand across his eyes. "It's not-" he presses his lips together.

Bozer lets out a squeak when Riley squeezes his arm tighter.

"It's not getting better," Jack swallows, shaking his head. "The uh- his corneas are scarred, there's an ulcer. They've gotta taper the steroids because there's a risk for melting his eyeballs? I don't know."

"So, that's it?" Riley feels tears filling her eyes. Her chest clenches, her heart drops and lungs tighten with a profound sense of loss. 

"They offered him surgery. Cut out the dead tissue, and a cornea transplant. They think he's a good candidate."

"That's good right?" Bozer asks, seizing the offered hope. "He'll be able to see?"

"Maybe. Guess we won't know though. He's refusing."

“What?” 

“Why?” Riley and Bozer question in tandem.

"No guarantees that it would work, or what percentage of his vision would return, if at all. It's a long recovery time. He'd have to spend hours a day on his back for weeks, maybe months until the graft took. And even then there's still a risk for failure. Rejection. That he won't get his vision back. That he'd end up with cataracts."

“But there’s a chance he’d be fine too, right?” Riley asks. She moves to grab her rig out of her bag laying on the coffee table and bringing it to the edge of the counter “I’ve read the research. There’s a pretty good chance.” She pulls up links to the medical journals she’s spent too many late nights pouring over.

"He's being stubborn," Jack says, his eyes narrowing as his attention is captured by something over their shoulders. Riley glances back to see what Jack is glaring at.

"He's pouting," Jack continues.

"I'm not pouting," Mac's voice is cold. It warbles with anger.

"Seems like you are. Won't even talk about it."

"It's a lot of hope, and maybes and cautious promises if everything goes right. And when in my life has everything gone right?"

Bozer takes a step towards his friend. "Mac, buddy, don't you think you owe it to yourself to try?"

"Didn't I say that the whole way home," Jack mutters.

Mac glares in Jack's general direction then turns to face Bozer, his eyes not quite meeting the mark. "What if I do it? Surgery and eye drops and months of following bed rest orders and at the end of it, it's no different? I can't spend months hoping for the best and then..."

"So you're going to give up without a fight?" Riley asks. "That doesn't sound like the Mac I know."

"I'm protecting myself," Mac's voice is angry, his words loud, clipped. "And you guys," he mumbles.

“Mac..."

"I can't ask you to do this, to wait this out with me. Leave the team short for months hoping and then after all that I still have to accept the inevitable.”

"We'll figure that out when we get there.

“That’s been your answer for everything, Jack,” Mac argues. “_Wait and see. We don’t know yet. It’ll be fine._ Nothing about this is fine!”

The kitchen is silent except for the burble of pots on the hot stove. 

“It sounds like your friend was able to make a life for himself.”

Riley and Bozer turn questioning eyes toward Jack. 

“Yeah. He was. But I think if he were given the chance, he would take it.”

“I guess he’s stronger than I am. I don’t want to hope and have it ripped away.”

“Do you have to decide now? Can you think about it?” Bozer asks.

“I’m done thinking about it. And talking about it. I want to move forward and start learning my new life.” He turns, stalking from the room, down the hall, the discussion over.

"Jack?" Riley turns back to Jack.

"He's just hurting right now. Despite claiming that he was expecting bad news, it still," Jack swallows. "It still was a sucker-punch. He'll come around."

* * *

"Careful," Jack can't stop the word before it's out of his mouth.

Mac stops mid-step and turns toward Jack, raising an eyebrow.

"Sorry," Jack says. "Habit. Thought you were gonna trip over the table with your pacing. Why don't you sit down and rest for a minute? You've been at it all morning." He discreetly checks his watch and resists the urge to sigh.

Mac's hands connect with one of the chairs and he uses it as a guide to settle himself on the War Room's couch. 

"You should have gone with them," Mac's tone is tense and angry. "I told you I'd be fine here."

"You'd wear yourself out pacing if I wasn't here to make you stop once in a while."

"And we're fine, Mac," Riley assures through comms. "We've got this covered. And it's nice to be in the van without Willie Nelson and onion potato chips."

"Oh come on, you know you miss Willie."

"No, no, Jack, we really don't," Bozer answers.

"Blue eyes cryin' in the rain..." Jack warbles

"Oh come on, Jack," Riley complains. "Don't start. You always cry when you sing that song."

"That song's a classic and I'm a romantic."

Mac leans forward, finding the table in front of him, hands searching until he finds the bowl of paperclips. He selects a few and starts straightening the first one, wincing when the sharp metal pokes at the fresh pink skin of his healing hand.

He hears Jack swallow back a command to be careful.

His decision not to go through with the cornea transplant took everyone by surprise. Even him. So far they’ve respected his wishes and not brought up the topic. It’s only been two days. The tension around the house is palpable. He’s fully expecting someone to bring it up by the weekend. 

He might need to tack an extra day onto his assessment, since Bozer, Riley, and Desi are half a world away, and he’s expecting Bozer to be the first one trying to breach the topic. 

The War Room is bustling with techs and analysts. 

Jack declined the invitation to join the op, like he promised. If Mac’s in the field, he’s in the field. If Mac’s behind the screen, Jack will command the TAC teams from the War Room. 

He's relieved that Jack's here with him, waiting on the other side of the comms. It's not a place he's used to being. Especially not if his team is in the field. He's been called in to consult on other missions when the team in the field is over their head, offering suggestions and talking them through what's come to be called throughout the Phoenix as a 'Mac Hack.'

He'd rather be in the field though. He'd rather be the one taking the risks.

But he made his choice. 

He may never make it back to field work. If it’s ever a possibility, it’s a long way off. 

But if he can't, he's grateful that Jack is here with him. And he feels guilty about that. Jack belongs in the field, being Overwatch for a team, not in the War Room babysitting a washed up agent.

"Guys, we've been made," Desi's voice comes through the comms.

He hears Jack's footsteps stalking closer to the screen at the front of the room.

Mac wants to leap from his seat and move closer too, a useless action right now. His fingers still, the paperclips clutched between them as he listens. He stays back, out of the way of the techs and analysts in the room who actually have a role in providing back up and intel. He reminds himself that he's only here as a courtesy. He shouldn't even know his team is in the field.

The pop of gunfire echoes over the comms. Desi yells to drive as she returns fire. The comms squealch then buzz as they stop transmitting.

At this, Mac does stand, banging his shins on the table.

The chaos of the room, Matty and Jack shouting orders and the techs' negative answers, fade to blend with the low hum of the comms and his heart racing in his ears.

They're trained agents. Competent. They can handle whatever a mission throws at them.

Jack should be with them.

Mac knows it’s where Jack belongs, where he wishes he was right now, not stuck here with Mac. And if something happens to the team Jack will never forgive him for his selfishness. That's okay, Mac will never forgive himself.

His hands tightly fisted. There's nothing he can do. He's useless to his team right now. He can only count the minutes that his team is unreachable, alone without the safety of back up.

"We're good," Riley's voice fuzzy, the comms full of static when they finally come back online. 

"Mac, your EMP worked like a charm. So did the faraday bag. And slight change of plans. We grabbed Eller. Heading back to the Phoenix."

Mac sits heavily, as the tension in the room dissipates with relief at hearing the team is alright. 

Matty confirms ex-fil coordinates and compliments the team on a job well done. She compliments him too, but Mac barely hears it.

He uncurls his fingers, noticing for the first time the pain in his hand. The sharp ends of the paperclips biting into his skin, and bandages on his hand growing damp.

He closes his hand again.

“Hey, let’s get out of here for a minute,” Jack whispers at his shoulder. “I think they can handle things.”

Mac nods, accepting Jack’s elbow. 

Jack leads Mac to his lab.

“Sorry Sparky,” Jack says, flipping off the power switch before the robot can protest. “Don’t need any snitches in here.”

“You can’t just switch him on and off. It’s rude.”

“He’s rude. Always listening in on conversations.”

“He’s learning.”

“I don’t want him learning. That’s how we get the robopocalypse.”

“And he’s not going to forget all the times you shot him and powered him down when that happens.”

“Fine, you want him reporting to Matty and Medical that you cut your hand all up on paperclips, be my…”

“Maybe you’re right. Sparky’s a snitch.”

Jack grasps Mac’s hand firmly, leading him to a table. Blood wells from small cuts piercing the new pink skin stretched across his palm. Jack finds the first aid kit and efficiently cleans Mac’s hands, smoothing triple antibiotic ointment across the cuts, and covering them with bandaids. 

He’s quiet as he works. 

Mac breaks the silence. 

“I decided.”

Jack frowns confused for a moment at the non-sequitur, then a grin breaks out on his face. “Yeah?”

Mac takes a deep breath then nods. “I owe it to myself, to you, Bozer and Riley to try. Maybe it works, maybe it doesn’t but I’ve tried.” 

“That’s some smart reasoning there, hoss. You think that all up on your own?”

“Actually, I think it was Bozer… might have been Sparky.”

“What?” Jack sputters

“It might not work,” Mac reminds him. 

“One day at a time.”

“I still want to meet Auggie. Now. Before I do anything else.”

“I’ll arrange it.”

* * *

Jack looks at his watch in the dim firelight. "Alright, bud, getting to be last call for you. Want anything to eat?"

Mac pauses, considering the leftovers from Bozer's feast in the refrigerator. "I think I'm good."

"You sure? No fridge raids allowed after midnight," Jack reminds him. "Those spicy noodles calling your name?"

Mac laughs. “No, I’m good.” 

Jack presses a water bottle into his hands. "Drink that. Gotta make sure you're hydrated for when they tap your crappy veins."

Mac cracks the seal on the bottle of water, the noise echoes in the quiet, he can feel everybody's eyes on him. He's gotten used to the feeling of being watched lately. All eyes on him all the time. They deny it, and he can't prove it. Maybe after tomorrow, he can. He'll be able to catch them in the act. He takes a long pull from the bottle. Slowly, he replaces the cap.

"You should finish that up," Jack encourages.

"Yeah, I will, I just," he pauses, swallowing hard. "Whatever happens tomorrow, or in the next couple of months, thank you. I couldn't do this without you. I wouldn't have even tried."

"We're with you, Mac, whatever happens," Riley says, resting her head and Mac's shoulder, her hand coming up to twist her fingers in the hair on the back of Mac’s neck. He feels Bozer’s arm stretching across Riley's back and resting on his shoulders, while Jack scoots up closer on Mac's other side. He leans in too, wrapping an arm around Mac and pressing a light kiss to Mac's temple.

Even in the dark, and the unknown, Mac doesn't think he's ever felt safer.

"You ready to get some sleep?" Jack says after a few minutes of enjoying the comfort of his family close.

Mac shrugs. "Not yet. I'm going to be getting a lot of enforced bed rest. I'd rather stay up for a while." He hears the rustling of his teammates settling in to wait with him, keeping him company.

He doesn't know how long they sit there, but he feels the heat wafting from the embers of the fire pit, as the line between late night and early morning blurs. Night time is easier, knowing that there's only a faint glow of light that he's missing eases the sting.

He misses the stars though. And the moon.

"Okay, kiddo," Jack says softly, nudging Mac's shoulder and rousting him from his contemplative thoughts. "It's bed time. I'm sure there's some sort of rule about getting sleep the night before surgery."

"I don’t think I’m going to be doing a lot of sleeping tonight," Mac says with a wistful smile. The comfortable feeling of security wafting away as anxiety about the unknown begins to creep into his thoughts again. "But you're probably right." He feels around on the deck next to him to collect empty bottles and leftover plates and napkins.

"I got it, hoss," Jack says.

"No," Mac refuses, as he collects the trash. "I've got to do some things for myself." 

Mac’s meeting with Auggie was insightful, helped him put into words, even just to himself, some of his feelings. He spent the weekend talking with Mac, catching up with Jack and meeting Riley and Bozer. Regardless of what happens over the next several months, this meeting with Auggie helped Mac achieve a level of peace that’s been missing since his accident. 

Despite his worries that sleep would be elusive, Mac found himself shaken awake by Jack in the morning. 

“Sorry, no go on coffee this morning,” Jack apologizes as Mac yawns. “But you’ve got time to grab a shower before we need to go.” 

His hair is still damp and the sleeves of his… Jack’s… sweatshirt hang over his hands as he makes his way down the hallway. Comfortable loose fitting clothes were part of his pre-op instructions. 

“Okay, ready to go, hoss?” Jack asks.

Mac shrugs. “Ready as I’ll ever be.” 

It’s not his first surgery, not by a long shot. The stakes, while high, not nearly the highest they’ve ever been, but he’s more nervous. Usually he doesn’t have time to worry about it. They crash through the doors of Phoenix Med, bleeding out and are rushed into emergency surgery. No time to think about anything except getting to help, stopping bleeding and breathing through pain. 

He prefers it that way, at least for himself. Sitting around, waiting to go under the knife is unpleasant. Worse than bleeding out in the front seat while Jack yells at him to stay awake, he decides, though he won’t share that observation with Jack. Not this morning. 

Riley kisses him goodbye, and Bozer gives him a hug and it feels more like he’s heading off to boot camp than to a day surgery center. 

“I’ll be home by this afternoon,” Mac reminds them with a sheepish smile on his face, flushed at the attention lavished on him. 

Jack pats him on the back and leads him out to the GTO.

The drive is leisurely. Jack sings along with the radio and Mac leans his head back against the seat. They’re pulling up to the surgery center too soon for Mac. 

Jack’s got an arm around Mac’s shoulders, offering comfort as they enter the building. Mac checks in and is directed to the waiting room. He finds himself wishing for something to distract him as he waits, worrying the cuff of too long sleeves between anxious fingers. His leg bounces.

"What time is it?" Mac asks for the third time since they arrived.

"Not quite eight. We're a little early."

Mac nods, licking his lips. He jumps when his name is called a minute later. He stands, the nurse coming over to help guide him back. He extends his fist which Jack bumps.

"See ya on the other side," Mac says with a smile.

Jack smirks at the pun and prays that it’s so. 

* * *

"More bandages," Mac grumbles as he rests his head back against the seat. It’s the third time since they got in the car that Mac’s complaining about them. The valium in his system making him forgetful.

"Just a couple more days, bud," Jack encourages, slowly accelerating, easing through a turn. A few days of bandages and eye drops and then a check-up and then maybe some good news. The last two weeks have stretched on in an agonizing limbo. Jack hopes this is finally the upswing. 

Mac turns towards Jack, gauze covered eyes pointed in his direction. "Are you driving really slowly?"

"No," Jack says, his voice cracks as he tries to sound innocent.

"What's going on?"

"Nothing."

Mac's brow furrows, pushing against the bandages.

"Look, they said not to do anything strenuous, not to lift anything, not to bend at the waist, no jarring movements."

"You're worried about driving so fast that you'd tear the corneas from my eyes?"

"There's only little, itty bitty stitches holdin' 'em in there," Jack teases with a shrug. "Actually I was worried about the meds they sedated you with, because you always get sick when they have to put you out and they said that throwing up is an emergency situation because it would increase the pressure in your eyeballs."

"They gave me some IV antiemetics pre-op," Mac says then holds up the white pharmacy bag with his latest prescriptions, rattling the pill bottles. "Plus oral disintegrating tablets, so I should be covered."

Mac leans his head against the headrest again. "Shouldn't you be watching the road?"

"I am," Jack... well it's not a lie, he's driving so he is watching the road, but more than half of his attention is focused on Mac.

“I’m fine. I’m not going to be sick.” 

They arrive home without Mac getting carsick, and Jack breathes a sigh of relief. His hand rests against Mac's back, steadying him and helping to guide him up the front walk. 

"Smells like Bozer's worried." 

* * *

Four days later Team Improvise gathers at the house.

It takes every ounce of resolve not to run into the house at the sound of the GTO pulling into the driveway, and meet Mac and Jack at the doorway. They decided, Riley, Bozer, Leanna, Desi and Matty, that the deck was the best place to wait for them. Relaxed, and comfortable. 

Mac can come to them, when he’s ready. It gives him a little space, a chance to savor being safely back at home, regain his equilibrium. And an opportunity to avoid them if he’s not ready to face everyone yet. They don't want to overwhelm him. Emotions still running high.

They pretend not to be listening, as the front door opens. Try not to strain to hear the murmured voices, but the conversation on the deck stalls as footsteps head toward them. 

Two sets of footsteps. 

Jack behind Mac, hands on his shoulders, pushing him along, directing him up the stairs.

_ “I’ve just seen a face, I can’t forget the time or place…” _Jack sings.

Riley gasps and jumps to her feet. She hears the others following her. 

“Mac?” She whispers, interrupting Jack’s karaoke announcement, stopping just in front of Mac, looking into clear blue eyes.

“Hey Riles,” he smiles shyly, embarrassed at being the center of attention. He squints at the others. “Hey guys.”

“Don’t strain yourself,” Jack says, tapping Mac on the shoulder.

“You can see?” Riley asks.

“It’s pretty blurry.”

“That’s what we were expecting though,” Bozer says, moving closer. “They said after surgery it could be months before we know how much clarity you’ll regain.”

“I mean, it’s really blurry. If this were a sitcom, I’d be talking to a lamp thinking it was you, but I can see.” Mac reaches out and brushes a tear from Riley’s cheek with the pad of his thumb before getting pulled into a hug. 

He feels the arms of the rest of his family joining Riley’s, wrapping tightly around him. The weight of the unknown still hangs over his head, he still has a lot of recovering ahead of him. But right now, his family surrounding him, there’s nothing he can’t do. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for taking the time to read this! Hope you enjoyed it!


End file.
